


Newton's Second Law

by GirlFromTheRing



Series: Force (N) [2]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Angst, Death, Implied Sexual Content, Insecurity, Kissing, M/M, Mafia NCT, Mentions of Suicide, Moon, Organized Crime, Power Play, Prostitution, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2019-09-05
Packaged: 2020-04-07 08:32:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 26,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19081351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GirlFromTheRing/pseuds/GirlFromTheRing
Summary: It started with a smile.Sicheng fell in love as the moon rose, settled over the skyline. It dipped low in the mornings, sometimes visible in the afternoons, home with the stars at night.Yuta was every constellation that made up Sicheng's universe; hidden, but ever present.Or: Sicheng, the heir to his mother's organisation, meets Yuta, a stranger who makes living a little less predictable.





	1. Force

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!!! I am back!! This is a relatively new style for me, I hope you guys like it!! I wrote this when I was hit with a burst of inspiration and it kind of escalated from there, and voila, please enjoy.
> 
> A prequel to [Hooke's Law](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17893664/chapters/42240092) but can be read on its own.

It started with a smile.

Another banquet, another disguise, another agenda. Sicheng had played this game too many times to appreciate it. Women and men in elaborate attire as labels of wealth, open conversations of select understanding, a waiter slipping while serving drinks and ruining a lovely dress, _what a shame, I’ll help you clean it up._

He politely nodded at the few guests he recognised, avoiding conversation to the best of his abilities. His mother dragged him here, to play the role of the ambitious son, with visions of expansion for the future. They’d call him the perfect heir, well groomed, and move on with their lives until they had any use for him. Some would call him a puppet, a younger face for his mother’s scheming, doomed to collapse before he could rule. 

Sicheng got used to it. He swirled the wine in his glass, the red latching onto the sides for the barest second before slipping back into the sea of majority. He wondered whether this would represent the masses, trying to control their lives only to realise that they gave up their control a long time ago, along with their freedom. They all belonged to the powers they’ve foolishly trusted, who, in turn, would belong to him.

He set the glass down. He looked up to another polite smile, and he smiled back, both parties aware that it was mere courtesy, a formality, forced long enough for it to look natural. He ducked his head first, he’s younger, of course he should, and finished the rest of his wine.

Sickening, if he had a word to describe it. But this was the world he was born into, whether he wanted it or not, this was his life. It started with arms and narcotics, the crux of his family’s success, illegal but so utterly lucrative. The power shifted, from money lenders to corrupt politicians to his mother, and eventually, to him. 

He didn’t want it. He didn’t want any of it. But how dare he go against what’s given to him? How dare he refuse it, when people would kill to be in his place? How dare he ask to lead his own life?

A puppet, some would call him, and he would agree.

Slight commotion from the other side of the lavishly-dressed hall caught his attention. A waiter, tripped over the folds of a tablecloth, doused an unfortunate girl in enough white wine to burn her alive. 

_What a shame,_ he thought, as another girl held her hand out to help her up. _Perhaps she’ll offer her assistance in cleaning her up._ Both the girls poorly concealed their excitement as they left the hall.

Sicheng was tempted to roll his eyes. His mother’s voice rang through his head at the thought. Not here, not at a public event where people could see him. Every action of his has a reaction, there was always someone watching, waiting for him to slip up. Even when he thought there was no one. Especially when he thought there was no one.

He did a once over of the room, preventing his eyes from lingering too long anywhere. Always someone watching, if he could just figure out - ah.

Him, by the arched window, who averted his eyes too quickly. Tall, graceful, well-fitted suit. Some semblance of moonlight shadowing his face. Drinking champagne, no, downing champagne, before he turned to face Sicheng. His eyes asked a question, and Sicheng answered, quirking a barely-there smile, raising his eyebrows.

This game, of smiles and breathing patterns and most importantly, eyes, was one Sicheng took immense pleasure indulging himself in. The barest twitch of lips could give away ill-intentions, a calming breath, and eyes: eyes never lie.

His eyes didn’t. Sicheng held his chin up higher, _I’m above you,_ and met a slight smile in response, mirroring his from earlier.

Two could play this game.

~

The second time he saw him, it was at a private affair. A house party, a balcony to smoke at, cigarette ash lining the steps Sicheng took. He made his way through intoxicated, entitled men and women to reach an unclouded spot, the air fresher than it was inside the house. He leaned over the railing, looking down at the six floors of black darkness beneath him. He had the overwhelming urge to jump over, to fall into the embrace of the oblivion and let it cradle him, but he knew he wouldn't.

One jump, though. That's all it would take. 

A string of smoke obstructed his line of sight. He turned around.

Sicheng didn’t even hear him coming. 

"Eyes open," he tilted his head to the side, the smoke curling around the tips of his hair. He brought the cigarette to his lips, his cupid’s bow resting over it almost gently, lovingly, as he closed his eyes to inhale. A deep exhale, he blew smoke on to Sicheng's face, but Sicheng did as he was told. Eyes open.

The rich, addicting scent hit Sicheng's nose, lips, cheeks, but dissipated before it could reach his eyes. A smile, unusual, similar to the last one he gave Sicheng yet not quite, another puff of smoke. This one hit his eyes, but he kept them open, compelled by a strange will to relent.

It burned, an irritation, nothing that wouldn't settle in a few blinks. So Sicheng's eyes blinked shut at their own accord, though briefly, yet he disappeared in those few blinks, and Sicheng was alone again, the depth and uneasy satisfaction low in his stomach, coiling like his own smoke.

It was only after a few minutes that he gained the pleasure of company. An old acquaintance of his mother's offered him a cigar, which Sicheng politely declined, then stood next to him and began retelling the done and dusted story of him building his way to the top.

Sicheng left amidst the haze. He didn't want to listen.

~

"Keep your gazes to yourself, remember that."

She was perched on the stool of her dresser, adding finishing touches to her attire. Sicheng sat on the bed behind her, always behind her, having heard the instructions for the night.

His mother snapped her bracelets into place as if to emphasise her point. Next, her rings. One for her organisation, one for marriage, one for herself. Perfume, a hairclip, no, no hairclip, what's missing?

"Brooch, mother."

"Of course," she replied, pinning the gold-studded emerald into place. "You'll be wearing this one day, son. Wear it with pride."

"Yes, mother," Sicheng picked at a stray thread on his trousers. He'd have to remove it before his mother saw it scolded the unfortunate tailor. In his honest opinion, the red was too over the top, though he'd never tell his mother that. He could deal with a velvet suit if it would relax her, for one night at least.

"Shall we go?" he asked, standing up and smoothing the nonexistent creases. This fingers rolled over the thread. He ignored it. 

She nodded, and he followed her out of the room. A car was waiting outside, the black exterior reflecting the moonlit sky. Sicheng followed the moon through his window as the car breezed through the streets, finding a strange allure in it. He couldn't quite describe it.

The car pulled into a stretch of road lined with what would look like lights to any unsuspecting individual, but Sicheng knew better. Cameras, perhaps, could be actual people too. He wouldn't be surprised. 

"Stay alert," his mother whispered, before getting whisked away in the crowd that came to greet her at the entrance. 

He made her a silent promise and looked for the bar to entertain himself.

The moon, however, had other plans. He found himself leaving the house through an obviously hidden backdoor that lead to a courtyard. There, the moon could shine in all its glory, undisturbed by its artificial substitutes. He stood, gazing up, hands crossed behind his back: the moon was entitled to his respect.

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

Sicheng should not be surprised.

He hummed, hoping it would cease conversation, but really, he was hoping for too much. 

"Come sit," a chair scraped against concrete behind him. He heard him take a seat himself, crossing one leg over the other, seizing Sicheng up from behind. 

One stranger, he could deal with it.

"I must ask," Sicheng settled into his own chair, close to his. "What is your name?"

"In due time, Sicheng.”

His eyes didn’t waver from the moon. His breath didn’t hitch. His fingers didn’t twitch. No tells, he made sure of it, but he noticed.

A raise of eyebrows, Sicheng saw it from his peripheral. He noticed.

“Something to ask?”

“A name,” Sicheng sat straighter, to face him.

He regarded Sicheng with a long look, slotting his fingers together and resting them on his knee. This look tried to break Sicheng down and understand him, searched for his weakness to exploit him.

“I already told you, will you not follow?”

No tells. Sicheng slowly nodded.

“Lovely,” he adjusted himself, leaning back on the chair. Sicheng watched him smile, lips stretching over his teeth, widely, forming a rectangle.

“The moon’s shining,” he commented, following his posture and leaning back in his own chair. “What do you want from me?”

“Who said anything about wanting?” 

“Look,” he turned to the moon again, tipping his head back to appreciate it fully. "It shines."

"And what if I were to rob it of its shine?"

"Then I'll have to find something that shines brighter," Sicheng turned to look at him, his smile, ever-present, unfaltering.

He looked back, amused, intrigued, and a hint of something else in his near-black eyes. Sicheng didn’t know what it was, but he wouldn’t let that show. 

“You’re interesting, Sicheng.”

“And you’re interested, as I’ve noticed.”

“Of course you have,” his smile dimmed, determination rippled over his features. Sicheng was right.

“Well? How long do you need?” 

“Whatever for?” Sicheng didn’t miss the teasing edge to his voice. He knew too, then.

“If you were to rob the moon of its shine,” Sicheng’s eyes drifted back to it, as if to confirm the shine was still there, “where would you keep it?”

“In my eyes, Sicheng.”

His eyes, pools of dark, dark, determination, pensiveness, perhaps calculating his next move. Sicheng didn’t want to stick around to find out, he’d given him enough time.

“Well,” Sicheng stood, reaching to button his coat out of habit before realising he was wearing a velvet jacket. He settled for pulling his lapels closer, no need for him to know that Sicheng had forgotten his own attire. “I’ll be going. Entertaining conversation, stranger.”

“And we shall meet again, Sicheng.”

Sicheng stayed in place for a second longer, to admire the moon once before leaving. He heard him take a decisive breath and now Sicheng had to make a decision too - fight, or flight?

Neither, it turned out.

Sicheng tried not to stiffen when he felt fingers grazing his thigh. Slender and graceful, he looked down to see, pulling out the thread he’d ignored earlier. 

“Apologies,” he faced Sicheng, tipping his head back. His hair was parted in a manner where the slightest movements would unset it, and now the black locks fell back with his head. “It was bothering me, and I’m sure it would bother your mother.”

Sicheng preferred it this way: him looking up at Sicheng, apologising, no hint of superiority in his tone, only mild concern in fear that he’d made a mistake. That was how it should be. 

“Thank you for your concern.” Polite, curt, final.

His fingers were still on Sicheng’s trousers, barely close enough for Sicheng to feel it. They lingered for a moment longer before he withdrew them. Sicheng gave him a tight-lipped smile, which he returned, equally practised. 

He wanted to leave, preferably get a few drinks before he did, snoop around the house if he was feeling up to it. Anything predictable. He let his feet carry him back to the door. 

“One last thing,” the words stopped Sicheng mid-step. He lifted his head to show he was listening, but didn’t give him the privilege of turning around.

“Yes?”

“The moon doesn’t shine. It reflects.”

Sicheng resumed walking.

~

Sicheng strived off predictability. Trust men who lied to lie, trust shipments to be delayed, trust drinks to be spilled. He’d seen enough to know where things would go wrong - and people, too. His favourite. He knew them too well, their tells, their signs, their intentions: he was one of them, after all. It was one of the reasons his mother insisted on taking him to events. _Study the people,_ she would tell him. _Tell me their weaknesses._

He prided himself for excelling in that field. He often did it for fun, and challenges were appreciated, indeed, but him.

Ah, him.

He’d dragged Sicheng through a whole conversation and yet Sicheng couldn’t confidently conclude a single thing about him. He’d usually have a backstory and at least three vulnerabilities by the end of an exchange, so this, this intrigued Sicheng.

He’d usually be the one talking in metaphors, too. He’d usually be the one smiling to gain their trust. He’d usually be the most comfortable in his element.

He couldn’t explain his uneasiness, rather, apprehensiveness. Maybe it was his name (lack thereof), but then again, what’s in a name?

Or was it the way he carried himself, surer and stronger than Sicheng, like he knew something Sicheng didn’t? Was it the way he reciprocated every one of Sicheng’s actions with his own calculated gesture? Were they the same?

They couldn’t be, Sicheng would feel something if they were, a sign of recognition, maybe he mirrored Sicheng’s tells, if he mirrored Sicheng’s actions?

He had felt something, though. Those fingers on his thigh had seared into his skin and memories, the chill that ran through his body when he let them linger. It was intentional - everything he did was intentional, but Sicheng had to figure out the intent before this particular action. Was he trying to disarm Sicheng? Gauge a reaction from him? Seduce him?

Now that he looked back, the inexplicable hint of something else in his eyes, could have been lust.

It made sense.

_I see what you want,_ he thought. _I’m not going to give it to you._

Satisfied with himself, Sicheng let his thoughts wander to happier places, to another life of monotony and small joys.

~ 

He was prepared this time.

Now that Sicheng knew his intentions, his actions became much clearer. A hand combing his hair back so that it fell lazily, like he didn’t care. Dilated pupils - hard to tell, but present. Feet angled towards Sicheng whenever he sat, one knee crossed over the other.

“How did you know where to find me?”

“Followed the moon,” his eyes shifted upwards, to prove his statement. The half-moon looked back, omnipresent and unaffected. 

Masquerade ball, his mother had told him. Perfect opportunity take advantage of the fact that people didn’t care for him. He was barely a boy, what did he know, after all? He’d been exiled a year earlier, though not everyone knew, and if attending stupid parties was his punishment for crawling back to his mother, so be it. But wearing a mask? A literal mask, as if he didn’t wear one everyday? Unnecessary. 

He took it off and placed it on the ledge next to him. The black material shone - no, it reflected the moon’s light. It bounced off the specks of glitter littered over his mask, dense around the holes for his eyes. It was a beautiful mask, really, swirls of black taking over the white background, tiny stars decorating random spots, but Sicheng had a better mask.

Which he used now, to regard his stranger. They were sitting on the roof of the home, Sicheng, because he was bored with the party, and the stranger, because he was bored without Sicheng. 

“You realise how dangerous this is?” he spoke up, Sicheng’s silence probably bothered him. No, it definitely bothered him.

“What? Talking to you, or sitting on the ledge of a roof?” 

He laughed at that, short-lived and genuine. Sicheng dangled his legs for emphasis, kicking the empty space below him - a fifty foot drop, at least.

“I’d never put you in danger.”

“Then I’ll trust you to not push me off.”

“And I’ll trust you to do the same.”

Sicheng didn’t reply. He took it as a sign to continue.

“Do you like champagne, Sicheng?”

“I prefer wine, but yes.”

“Can I have the pleasure of offering you some?”

“In due time, stranger.”

He quirked a smile, more like a smirk, pulled up one side of his lips. Sicheng turned to look at the moon instead. 

“You’re awfully quiet.”

“I don’t feel like talking.”

A sigh. Sicheng was not sure what to make of it.

“What are you thinking about, then?”

He replied immediately. “People. How easy they are to read.”

“Go on,” he prompted. His knee knocked against Sicheng’s, and Sicheng didn’t move. 

“I can read you, too.”

“Yes?”

“You want something from me, but that’s easy to tell. I know what you want and how you want it, but I’m not going to give it to you.”

“And what would it be?”

“An exchange, if you will. We are similar, you must know what I want, too.”

Sicheng glanced to see his eyes light up with a new intensity as opposed to his poorly-concealed interest from earlier. His hand inched towards Sicheng’s mask, one finger twirling around the ribbon used to tie it in place. 

“Nakamoto Yuta, delighted to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Sicheng pulled his mask back from his hold. 

“Spare me the details?”

“You’re awfully inquisitive.”

“One of my many qualities, you’ll come to learn.”

“I have already learned, Yuta.”

“You’re swift.”

“One of my many qualities.”

Yuta rolled his eyes. Sicheng raised his eyebrows. 

“I’m a man of my word, as well.”

“Prove it.”

Those words stirred something in Sicheng. A low hum of excitement, a ripple of desire, a sharp intake of breath. He slipped up.

Sicheng cleared his throat.

“I’m not going to sleep with you, Yuta.”

Yuta’s expression didn’t falter.

“I wasn’t going to ask you to.”

“I know, you wouldn’t.”

His eyes still burned with that intensity. Sicheng didn’t know why, he didn’t like not knowing why.

“Yes, I’m attracted to you, but I’m not going to do anything about it.”

Sicheng bit back the _what a shame_ that sat on the tip of his tongue.

“We’re clear about that, then,” Sicheng wrapped the conversation up, ready to throw it over the edge and down into the darkness.

“We are.”

Sicheng turned to gaze at the moon.

“Dance with me, Sicheng.”

Yuta’s suggestion caught him by surprise, but he didn’t show it.

“And why should I?”

“No reason.”

Lie. There was always a reason.

Sicheng didn’t want to say no to him, though he knew he should. He really didn’t want to say no.

“Come, then,” Sicheng jumped over to the floor of the roof, dusting his pants down to remove any dirt that had clung to him. Yuta did the same. 

Sicheng couldn’t see his expression very well, now that the moonlight no longer illuminated his features, but he was sure he saw satisfaction.

Yuta hadn’t bothered with a mask, as Sicheng had seen, but he was proved wrong when Yuta pulled one out from the insides of his jacket. Navy blue, to match his suit, with specks of white, to match his shirt. 

He slipped it on, tying the knot with nimble movements. The mask itself held nothing, covering around Yuta’s eyes and slope of his nose, but the way Yuta wore it made it look alluring, a hidden promise to be revealed when the mask came off. 

Sicheng reached to tie his own mask, deciding it was time to stop staring at Yuta. He set it over his face, the same design as Yuta’s, and dragged his fingers along the fabric to tie it in place.

Yuta’s finger’s stopped him. “Allow me,” he offered, and Sicheng’s hands fell to his sides, giving Yuta permission.

He moved to stand behind Sicheng, his fingers holding the ribbon in place. Sicheng closed his eyes. Yuta made quick work of tying the ends together, but he didn’t let go when he was done.

Sicheng felt Yuta’s breath, steady, periodically hitting his neck. The sensation made him suppress a shiver, but he couldn’t help that the hair at his nape stood. Yuta must have noticed, he knew exactly what he was doing, because he stayed there. Sicheng wanted to calm his heartbeat, take a few deep breaths, compose himself, but he couldn’t let Yuta know the effect he had on him. He could blame his hair rising on the cool air, perhaps, but he had no way of explaining the stiffening of his body. 

Yuta’s hands trailed down from his hair to his neck to his shoulders, which Sicheng didn’t let straighten, and then dropped down to his sides. He stepped back.

“Finished.”

Sicheng felt like he could breathe again, though he was breathing steadily through the ordeal.

Yuta offered Sicheng his arm, but Sicheng declined with a shake of his head. Yuta walked ahead of him then, and Sicheng thought he might have upset him slightly. 

“Suit yourself,” Yuta opened the door to the staircase. 

“I always do.”

~

No one paid attention to them, not really. Not when Yuta held his hand and lead him to the cluster of dancing couples, not when Yuta put his hand on Sicheng’s shoulder and Sicheng’s hand automatically went to hold Yuta’s waist, not when Yuta took the first step and Sicheng followed, their feet falling into the rhythm of the music.

Two boys dancing a couple’s dance, and nobody cared for the sole reason that nobody recognised him. Sicheng envied this life.

He wondered what his mother would say about it. She’d tell him to never do it again, it’s too risky, what if someone knew it was him? No one would ever treat her with respect again.

She was predictable. Sicheng had to laugh. 

Yuta asked him what was so funny. 

“People, Yuta. How predictable they are.”

“Again. What will I do next, then?”

Sicheng wanted to reply with “me”. He held his tongue.

“That, Yuta, is why I let you stick around. I never know.”

“Shall I be honoured?”

Sicheng nodded once. Yuta smirked, pulled him closer, until their chests were pressed together. If he wasn’t wearing insoles, Sicheng would think later, he would have to lean up to whisper in his ear.

“It’s a pleasure, Sicheng.”

Yuta’s lips brushed against the shell of his ear and Sicheng’s grip on his hand tightened. Yuta noticed this, angled his head so that his lips were close to the corner of Sicheng’s mouth, and said,

“I’ve been waiting to do this, you know.”

Sicheng knew, yet he asked, “Do what, exactly?”

“So many things, Sicheng,” his eyes shifted to gaze into Sicheng’s, tracing up from his lips, lingering too long at every visible exposure of skin, as if drinking him in.

Sicheng watched him. His eyes reflected what he’d suspected, desire. Not that he doubted his abilities, but when it came to Yuta, he liked the confirmation. 

Which was why he replied with, “I’d let you do every single one of them,” to see Yuta’s pupils dilate further.

His grip tightened, his breath hitched, and Sicheng didn’t expect it to go this far, he didn’t expect it to matter so much.

Well, then.

He observed Yuta’s face, up close. His hair, messily styled, his eyelashes, curling over the edge, gracing the tips of his cheekbones as he looked down to Sicheng’s lips for a glimpse. The way his mask fitted over the curve of his nose perfectly, like it was made for him, and finally, his lips. Smooth ascent that dipped into a prominent cupid’s bow, symmetrically descending. Sicheng wanted to trace it with his own mouth. 

He turned his head, so that his lips would graze over Yuta’s, slow enough for him too feel it but quick enough for him to chase it. Yuta didn’t chase, and Sicheng didn’t expect him to - Sicheng knew he’d want him to ask him for it. Yuta wouldn’t ask first. He wouldn’t cower to his desires.

Sicheng wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

He rested his cheek on Yuta’s, his cool skin contrasting with Sicheng’s warmer complexion, all to be cut off by clashing of their masks.

“Tell me what you want,” Sicheng tilted his head to the side, to whisper in his ear. “And how you want it.”

So Yuta told him, murmuring against his mouth, his lips grazing Sicheng's with every word, his eyes bearing into Sicheng's own. Sicheng held his gaze, equally determined, but also intrigued. He didn't hide it. He wanted Yuta to see him, to read his eyes, his posture, to know he wanted the same things. 

He leaned his forehead against Yuta's, their masks pressed together, so that Yuta couldn't reach his lips.

It ruffled Yuta's feathers, and he showed it, but that only fueled Sicheng. He exhaled through his mouth and the air hit Yuta's parted lips - he seemed satisfied with that.

Sicheng couldn’t say he didn’t like it. 

No, he really, really liked it. More than he should. Nakamoto Yuta was going to be the death of him.

“Tell me more.” he commanded, so Yuta told him more. Sicheng felt his heart rate picking up, no longer in sync with the movements of their feet. If Yuta felt it, he didn’t say anything of it, though his was equally fast.

At some point, Sicheng closed his eyes and urged his mask to fit on Yuta's. He could feel his lips, so close to his own, but not touching. Yuta made no move to kiss him.

“I’ll have you,” Yuta finished, lips over Sicheng's, “only if you’ll have me.”

Sicheng exhaled.

“Then you shall have me.”

He let go of Yuta’s waist and untangled his fingers from his. He stepped back, immediately missing the feeling of Yuta’s skin on his, and walked away.

“Until we meet again, Sicheng.”

_Indeed,_ thought Sicheng. _Until we meet again._

Ironic, that they were most open when they wore their masks.

~

“Sicheng, attend the meeting with me.” 

Sicheng was not one to attend meetings. He preferred to watch through the glass, reading body language for ulterior motives or signs of dishonesty and betrayal. He did not socialise with people who worked under him, he did not socialise with people, period.

So when his mother asked him to sit in on a meeting with her board members to discuss expansion of their organisation, interrupting his daily reading in the shady corner of the library, he was perturbed.

“Why?”

“Experience.”

She didn’t say anymore, and Sicheng didn’t want to make her suspicious, so he nodded and went back to reading.

A meeting. She’d never asked him to attend one before. Was she planning to pass on the organisation to him this early? If so, he did not want to accept. Then again, nobody cared what he wanted.

He also wanted to hit his head against the wall in sheer frustration and hope to injure himself, and since nobody cared, he took the liberty in doing so.

He regretted it, but at least he felt a bit better. He didn’t know how to deal with it anymore.

He could run away. He would require an accomplice for that, someone who had connections and resources to make him disappear. Someone he liked, if he would be working with them.

Yuta? No, he didn’t know him, or trust him, but he was the only person who Sicheng remotely liked.

Perhaps it was attraction, though. He would have felt something if they had a connection - but he had. He didn’t know what it was, but he’d felt something, and it sure as hell wasn’t just sexual attraction. 

Yuta was, strangely enough, remarkably like Sicheng, on his level. Sicheng appreciated that. The only problem was, though, that he couldn’t read Yuta. Sure, Sicheng knew what he wanted, but he didn’t know what he wanted. No tells, no ulterior motives, no slip-ups. Everything was intentional.

Sicheng wasn’t so sure if two could play that game, but he could damn well try.

“Sicheng,” he sat up, opening his book that he’d closed in lieu of thinking, and began reading once again.

“Five minutes, downstairs,” his mother stood in the doorway, makeup impeccable and attire formal. No one had to know they lived like normal human beings, comfortable in their own home.

“Yes, mother.”

“Put on some concealer, you’ve got dark circles.”

“Yes, mother.”

She left, and Sicheng sighed, snapping his book shut.

To the meeting, then.

Five minutes and a layer of concealer later, Sicheng greeted the members at the foyer. They kept up small talk as they walked to the meeting room, pretending to care for each other’s personal lives and wellbeing. It didn’t take someone of Sicheng’s caliber to see through them. They probably saw through each other, too.

“Sit, please,” his mother announced, and Sicheng noticed she was the only woman in the room. This disturbed him, though he said nothing. “We’ll begin shortly. Any questions?” 

Sicheng wanted to ask when he could leave. He didn’t.

“Right, then. Today’s agenda is expansion.”

That was Sicheng’s cue to tune out her voice and focus on the people. Mr. Kim, same black suit as everyday, nodding to whatever his mother was saying, scratching his thigh uncharacteristically. Probably another meeting he was nervous about - though Mr. Choi did complain about Kim owing him money, that could be it, too. Speaking of, Mr. Choi was his usual self: constantly fidgeting with whatever his hands could reach. It was a paperclip, this time, and he disfigured and refigured it as Sicheng’s mother spoke.

Mr. Oh wore an air of displeasure but that was expected, the old man couldn’t be satisfied when a woman was speaking. Sicheng didn’t want him to be anywhere near his mother, yet he was a valuable asset, and his mother would do anything for her organisation. Sicheng must’ve been glaring without meaning to, because Mr. Oh turned to him, scowled, then turned back.

He should have kept a neutral face, he couldn’t slip up like this, now Mr. Oh knew about Sicheng’s discomfort and he wouldn’t forget it. His mother was going to be upset.

“I’ll hand over to Mr. Choi, he will explain how we will go about it.”

Mr. Choi stood, thanked his mother, and walked to the front of the room. His mother didn’t sit, though she should, and Sicheng felt it had more to do with patriarchy than simple courtesy.

“The first step is to make alliances, which we have already begun, and there will be more opportunities to in the future.”

_More parties,_ thought Sicheng. _Joy._

But then he thought about the prospect of seeing Yuta, and felt a bit better.

Mr. Choi spoke with the body language of an inexperienced presenter. He stood awkwardly, took random pauses to scratch the back of his head, used his hands too much. Sicheng could have done a better job himself, though he’d only observed a few meetings, let alone attended one.

“Excuse me, Choi, but I’d like to ask a question,” Sicheng turned to look at Mr. Oh, who had interrupted the meeting with a tone so smug it meant bad news for Sicheng. 

“Yes, Mr. Oh?”

“I want to know what the heir thinks. It’s his first time here, after all.”

Sicheng felt his mother’s gaze on him. She didn’t seem concerned, or unsettled, but Sicheng knew she didn’t because she couldn’t. Not in this room full of people who could end her organisation with a snap of their fingers, she couldn’t doubt her son.

She didn’t have to.

“We need to prepare for it.” He looked deep into Mr. Oh’s eyes, accepting his challenge. “A few more workers in the organisation, perhaps, to keep the work balanced and efficient, and to make sure that there’s not too much of a burden on a single position.”

Sicheng watched a wave of disappointment roll over Mr. Oh’s features. He had to hide his satisfaction. His mother looked satisfied too, and Sicheng let himself relish in it for the rest of the meeting.

He could deal with Mr. Oh, he was, after all, like every other old man in power. Stroke his ego then puncture it. Watch him deflate but don’t help him. Rub it in his face. Sicheng knew him too well.

Maybe this life wasn’t too terrible. 

~

Though he didn’t like it, Sicheng didn’t meet Yuta for another few months or so. The days were awfully predictable and often dull without him, and Sicheng hated the impact Yuta had had on him.

He shouldn’t get attached, but Sicheng was absolutely pathetic and deprived of a decent conversation so he did something unlike him: he asked for help.

“Mother,” he started, over breakfast on a cloudy Tuesday. She looked up from her newspaper and set her teacup down.

“Yes?”

“Do we have any more events to attend?”

She went back to reading her paper, dismissing the importance the question held to Sicheng.

“One next week, though I was planning to go by myself. Do you want to join?”

“Yes. There was someone I met at an earlier event, and they might prove useful.”

His mother hummed, and Sicheng knew she lost interest in the conversation. “Just be careful, okay?”

“Yes, mother.”

Next week, then. Sicheng could wait.

~

“Attend another meeting.”

Sicheng looked up as he snapped his cufflinks into place. “Sorry?”

“Attend another meeting,” his mother simply repeated, then walked away from his doorway.

He didn’t want to, but he couldn’t say no. He’d gotten himself into this mess and now he would suffer for it, and he’d actually have to pay attention this time. Very well.

Sicheng sighed and straightened out his collar. He’d settled for a black suit today, a colour he thought would compliment his complexion. His mother told him it was casual formal, which made no sense, but Sicheng didn’t care much as long as he looked good.

He thought he did, then he thought he was behaving like he was going on his first date, and then he felt pathetic. He didn’t need to impress Yuta with his looks. If Yuta actually liked him and wasn’t toying with him, Sicheng should be enough by himself.

Sicheng wasn’t so sure if Yuta was toying with him. He’d seemed so genuine and relaxed, though everything was intentional, and now Sicheng was confused. Yuta always made him confused, but then again that was what made him so attractive. Something he couldn’t figure out.

Sicheng finished by applying perfume to his wrists and neck, then pulled up the grey turtleneck to rest snugly around his throat. He looked good.

His mother commented the same minutes later in the car.

“Anyone you’re looking to impress?”

“No, mother, I dress for myself, you were the one who told me so.”

His mother regarded him with a look of pity. “I hoped your life would be better than mine.”

Sicheng understood where she was coming from, really, but he felt defensive nonetheless. 

“Apologies, mother, but it doesn’t seem like I have a choice.”

She nodded, like she’d seen this coming, and resumed her original stance of looking out the window.

Perhaps someday Sicheng could bring someone home to make his mother happy. Though she had to pass on the organisation to him eventually, she did want the best for him. Sicheng appreciated that, immensely, but the best for him would be to leave.

She couldn’t know that. It would crush her.

Doesn’t matter, not like she would give him a choice. He did crawl back to her, after all, even his rebellious phase couldn’t live without her.

She spoke after a few minutes of silence, once they were nearer to the mansion. “Be careful, son.”

That’s all she ever told him. Be careful, stay in your limits, don’t arouse suspicion. Don’t make yourself known, but don’t make yourself forgotten. Leave a good impression but not a lasting image. Don’t be yourself.

Yuta was the only person he did try being himself with, and look how wonderfully that worked out.

The car pulled to a stop and Sicheng composed himself. Hopefully Yuta would find him, and hopefully he’d find a way to see him more often, as well.

“I’ll meet you in three hours, you know the drill.”

“Yes, mother.”

She exited first, greeting the people who flocked around her with smiles, and Sicheng made his way out discreetly, glad that none of these people cared enough for him.

He scanned the room once he found a glass of wine and a decent vantage point. No balconies, so to the roof, and no stairs, so he’d have to do some snooping. Oh well, all part of the thrill. 

Was Yuta merely a thrill? Sicheng contemplated this, taking a sip of his wine. It tainted his lips red, and Sicheng would ideally lick it off, but Yuta would notice it, and appreciate it. But he didn’t need to please Yuta, so why would he bother? He didn’t owe him anything.

It made Yuta impatient, though, when Sicheng would do things he liked and pretend it wasn’t intentional. Yuta liked being impatient, so Sicheng would continue to be a tease. Impatient Yuta meant Yuta would finally do something instead of cracking the surface with his words - and Sicheng was most definitely not opposed to that, not at all.

He downed his glass and didn’t bother with the excess on his mouth. Satisfying Yuta was not his priority, but he enjoyed it, it gave Sicheng a power over Yuta, one which he didn’t hold over anyone else.

It was a game, and Sicheng would play it to his pleasure.

Sicheng walked on the outskirts of the party. Multiple circular tables with cream-coloured tablecloths crowded the hall, the bar took residence at the back wall, waiters slipped through the gaps seamlessly, and the men and women of the night stood smiling, discussing their futures and pasts and presents. Sicheng found it repulsive.

There were no obvious signs of an exit apart from the entrance, so Sicheng took full liberty in searching the walls. A few ugly paintings, an unnecessary tapestry, the bar, a few guards, and - oh, perfect, an opening near the washrooms. The door had been left slightly ajar, probably a waiter in desperate need of a quick smoke.

He moved through the crowd, only one woman stopping him before realising she’d mistaken him for someone else, and reached the hallway. Sicheng checked to see if anyone was looking before slipping out the door and clicking it shut.

Not his ideal spot, but he’d take it. The garden was simple, plush, green grass overgrown and usual flowers dropping in the night. The stars were dimmer in this part of the city, but the moon was perfectly visible - almost full, another quarter or so - thus Sicheng was satisfied. He ran his fingers over the flowers, the soft petals soothing his skin, and waited for Yuta.

Still, the garden lacked something, so Sicheng turned to check the wall behind him for climbers, but instead he found the staircase. Hidden, ugly, metal staircase. He brushed away the plants that grew at the base and took the first step. Stable enough, so he continued, until the reached an empty clearing.

It was a balcony of sorts, the boundary wall coming up to his waist, marking the perimeter of a small rectangle. There was a hose pipe in the corner, but Sicheng ignored it to look down at the garden instead. He could see the road ahead of it too, now an empty stretch with a couple of guards manning the doors.

He wondered when Yuta would come.

As if on cue, the door to the garden opened. A figure in a light grey suit walked through, observing his surroundings. Yuta didn’t see Sicheng. Not yet, at least.

Sicheng thought about clearing his throat, but he was enjoying this too much to stop Yuta. He walked around the garden, touching the flowers and tilting them upwards to face the moon. He tilted his head up too, looking at the moon, and Sicheng followed his gaze, only to look down and find Yuta looking at him.

Wordlessly, Yuta climbed the stairs. Sicheng’s eyes followed him as he came to stand next to him. He turned himself around to lean back on the wall with his elbows. Yuta planted his elbows on the wall, leaning forward to look down on the garden.

“I didn’t know when I’d see you again.”

Yuta hummed in reply, and Sicheng wasn’t satisfied with that answer. He didn’t voice his opinion, waiting for Yuta to say anything.

“I don’t know how often we would be seeing each other, Sicheng. I’d make the most of this time.”

“How did you find me?”

“I followed the moon.”

“No, the first time. You were looking at me from across the hall.”

“That wasn’t the first time.”

“Of course.”

Yuta didn’t speak after that. Sicheng wasn’t close enough to ask if there was something wrong, but he wasn’t far enough to keep talking.

“I saw you for the first time on Christmas, last year. You were with your mother, and you didn’t speak to anyone, but I remember thinking, “he’s beautiful.” Then I brushed it off until I saw you again.”

Yuta had looked right at him when he said the word beautiful, and Sicheng hoped Yuta hadn’t sensed how nice that made Sicheng feel. He couldn’t describe it, but he felt important? Wanted? Appreciated?

“I liked looking at you, probably too much, and I thought I was being creepy so I stopped.”

“Then?”

“You looked back, Sicheng. I didn’t think you would, but you did.”

“Oh.”

Yuta smiled at him then, stretched his lips and looked away too soon, a small smile that held nothing, genuine, but it made Sicheng smile.

“I like you, Yuta.”

“Really? Or do you like the way I make you feel?”

“No, I definitely like you. Anyone could give me the feeling, but you make it different.”

“What feeling?”

Sicheng tipped his head back to meet Yuta’s eyes. “You’ll have to find out.”

Yuta probably wanted to roll his eyes. Sicheng would, if he was in Yuta’s place.

“Tell me something, Yuta.”

“Yes?”

“Do you crave another life?”

“All the time, Sicheng,” he looked up at the moon. “No blood, no bullets, no killing. That's the life."

A self-deprecating laugh, followed by an exhale. Yuta knew what Sicheng meant.

"And you?"

"I'd like a life. Apartment in the city, college, friends, the whole experience. Mother says we're above that, but it's probably because she hasn't seen better."

"Friends, huh?"

"Come on, Yuta," Sicheng observed the stars. "Do you know what it's like to have a friend?"

"I do."

He didn't say more, so Sicheng didn't pry.

"I don't, and I would like to."

"What am I, then?" 

Sicheng slowly dragged his eyes across the sky, observing the limited stars that shone despite the obstruction, until he met Yuta's.

"You tell me, Yuta."

Yuta held his gaze, Sicheng saw what he'd been seeing since he laid eyes on Yuta: desire, determination, and a challenge. He tilted his chin up in a show of defiance as Yuta stood straighter, moving from his elbows to rest his palms on the boundary wall instead. He took a step towards Sicheng, still leaning back on the wall, and lifted one hand to cup his cheek.

“Close your eyes,” he said, and Sicheng followed.

Yuta’s fingers brushed against Sicheng’s skin, faintly, and Sicheng controlled the urge to chase after the touch. He trailed them down to his jaw, and with minimal force, tilted his head back. The fingers continued, down his neck, stopping at the fabric, then pulling it down slowly, his bare skin tasting the cool air.

Sicheng wanted to ask Yuta what he was doing, but he had a fairly clear idea, and if Yuta was planning to do that, Sicheng was most definitely not going to stop him.

He felt Yuta's cool breath on the underside of his jaw, then lower, as if tracing down his neck. He inhaled, and Sicheng lifted his head but both of Yuta's hands came up to hold his face, no, cradle it, and tilt it back to its position.

"Don't move," he exhaled onto his skin, and Sicheng did as told.

Yuta’s numbing breaths paused and Sicheng held his breath unknowingly, too, only exhaling when he felt Yuta’s tongue drag across his skin, up to the underside of his jaw, where he’d started his ministrations. Sicheng remembered learning that the very vessel Yuta had traced was responsible for blood circulation from his head to his heart, but it evidently wasn’t doing its job, because Sicheng could hear his heartbeat in his ears, too fast and frantic as he hopelessly tried to calm it with shallow breaths.

Yuta hadn’t even done anything, but Sicheng was sick of controlling himself. Ideally, it would be embarrassing - no, ideally, it wouldn’t have happened, but this was Yuta. Sicheng found something in him which he didn’t want to let go of, even if that meant letting go of himself. 

Perhaps he found himself in Yuta.

He exhaled once more, sharply, and Sicheng felt it on more than just his neck. Closing his eyes only heightened his senses - he could hear his own heartbeat, Yuta’s, if he focused, he could smell the hints of smoke in the air, mingled with his and Yuta’s perfumes, every hair on his body stood on edge with every one of Yuta’s breaths, the slightest shift from Yuta and he wouldn’t be able to handle it.

He picked the perfect moment to retract his hands from Sicheng’s face and breath from his neck. Sicheng almost whined at the loss of contact, but since he still had some semblance of dignity left, he didn’t.

His hands came back though, one resting on Sicheng’s hip and the other on his shoulder. He tapped on Sicheng’s knee and immediately Sicheng obliged, standing straighter while keeping his head tilted back, shifting his feet apart so that Yuta could stand in the space between. He leaned in, of course, and lingered. This time, over Sicheng’s trachea. 

Sicheng was tempted to ask Yuta to hurry up, and the words sat at the tip of his tongue, he couldn’t get them out, though, because Yuta closed the gap and left the barest kiss on his skin. There, feather-light and quick, Sicheng wouldn’t have noticed if not for the effect Yuta had on him. 

One kiss, and he couldn’t breathe. Truly pathetic, Sicheng embraced it.

After the first, Yuta left more, gracing every inch of Sicheng’s exposed skin with his lips, painting his canvas. Sicheng adjusted to the sensation, calmed his heartbeat, clenched his fists, only to lose to Yuta biting down gently, and Sicheng’s brain turned to mush. He wouldn’t be surprised if it oozed out his ears.

Biting his lip, Sicheng made sure to not make a sound. He’d caved to Yuta’s previous wishes, he wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of this one, even if he wanted it himself. This, though, made Yuta only more persistent to hear Sicheng, so he moved to a lower spot and dug his teeth into the flesh of his neck, smoothing over the indents with his tongue and sucking on the skin.

A challenge, Sicheng was up for it. Sure,Yuta made it harder, but Sicheng chased that. It gave him his high, his satisfaction, his power, because now Sicheng wasn’t cowering to Yuta’s desires, Yuta was cowering to his.

Yuta gripped Sicheng’s waist tighter when he shifted to the other side of his neck, by scraping his teeth across, to reach a point higher up, the junction of his neck and jaw.

“You can’t,” Sicheng managed, “they’ll see.”

“So let them.”

“No, Yuta, please,” he pulled back, and Sicheng opened his eyes, leaning forward to meet Yuta’s. “Let me have this for myself.”

And for a second too long, they looked at each other. Sicheng, imploring him, and Yuta, more than ready to indulge him. 

“Whatever you say, Sicheng.” 

“Good,” Sicheng wanted to say, “thank you,” too, perhaps, but Yuta’s mouth rendered him speechless once again. Sicheng’s eyes fell shut. He moved lower, somewhere easily covered with the fabric of his top, and kissed the exposure before biting. This was rougher than earlier, like Yuta was mildly upset, and Sicheng suppressed a sound that started high in his throat. He rather preferred when Yuta was like this, a little less careful, a little less forgiving. 

Yuta marked the spot, over and over, but Sicheng didn’t give in. He dug his nails into his palms, he bit his lip until it bled, but he didn’t give in. He refused to.

“If you’re not going to indulge me,” Yuta stopped, kissed the mark again, and leaned back. “I won’t indulge you.”

Sicheng exhaled, lengthy and calm, then opened his eyes.

“Fair.”

Yuta tugged the turtleneck up, to cover Sicheng's display, and stepped back to his side.

The sky was still hazy, the stars were still dimmed, the moon was still not full. Nothing had changed, the world didn’t care for Yuta or Sicheng’s pleasures, the world didn’t care for anything. In that moment, with his breath catching up to his thoughts, Sicheng felt like he didn’t care, either. Maybe he should pull Yuta back and kiss him, tell me to do what he pleased with Sicheng, let things escalate to a point of no return.

Yuta’s previous question brought him back down. 

“What am I to you, then?”

Sicheng turned, to join him in gazing at the moon. Yuta shifted closer, rested his head on Sicheng’s shoulder, and Sicheng felt a wave of warmth ripple over him, from where Yuta’s temple touched his blazer, down to the tips of his toes, spreading to fill the cold that resided in Sicheng.

“A miracle.”

~

“Sicheng, they’re taking your idea forward.”

“Oh?” Sicheng feigned interest, looking up from his buttered toast. 

“They’ll be hiring some new agents, and perhaps you could participate some more, in the upbringing of the organisation?” 

She tried to slip it in casually, and she’d almost succeeded, but Sicheng had heard it too many times to ignore it.

“I don’t want to be part of the organisation just yet, mother. I only came back six months ago.”

“I’m well aware,” she stirred sugar into her tea, Sicheng wrinkled his nose. “But it’ll help you gain some experience, don’t you think?”

“I’ll consider it, mother.”

Lie. He won’t. He wanted nothing to do with the organisation. 

“At least be there to welcome them. The public should know you’re next in line before someone tries to snatch this away from me.”

“I’ll make sure no one does, mother.”

Yes, he would.

~

Sicheng settled in his favourite armchair, drawing his knees up to his chest to rest his chin on while he read. Today, he would finish this cursed book on finance and move on to more interesting time-wasters like distribution of power. Content with a goal, Sicheng began to read.

He didn’t get far. His thoughts wandered to Yuta, like they often did, to what had happened the night before and what it meant.

He couldn’t conclude anything about Yuta, nothing about his background or character apart from the fact that he liked to be in control. Sicheng was more than willing to give him that control, yet he wanted to see how far he could push before Yuta shoved.

Yuta was also fair, in his own actions at least, and strived to get what he wanted. Determined, sure, but it was more than mere determination. Ambitious would describe him better. Disarming, too, for Sicheng at least.

He let himself ask whether Yuta wanted something from him. The business, the throne, the money. If he’d been in this world long enough, he would know it all came for a price. It made sense, why he’d been dancing around Sicheng without actually doing anything, letting Sicheng talk about his desires, indulging Sicheng in his requests - but Sicheng had been the one to initiate it.

So what did he want from Yuta?

Sex, attention, a friend? All three? He couldn’t be confused about himself, too. This wasn’t going to work. Sicheng sighed and snapped the book shut, his focus completely elsewhere.

He would sleep with Yuta, there was no doubt about that, but what about the way he’d made Sicheng feel? He hadn’t felt that when he ran away to apparently ‘live’ his life. Not with the first girl he slept with, not with the first guy, not with the others whom he had lost track of.

He dared to consider the other possibility. No, not at all, he couldn’t afford to. He shut it down before it blossomed into an idea.

Maybe if he slept with Yuta he’d stop thinking about him. Yuta was probably just a smooth talker with a knack for character, just another person looking for a hobby to clear their head. He meant nothing, Sicheng couldn’t let him mean anything.

With some effort, Sicheng opened his book again. He’d made up his mind. 

~

His mother gave him a day’s warning this time, and Sicheng was grateful though it didn’t help him at all. He did feel more confident when the members came in, though, so perhaps it did help.

Once everyone was seated, barring his mother, she officially announced the meeting in session.

“We will continue to discuss last time’s agenda, starting with Sicheng’s proposal. Mr. Choi, if you will,” she took a few steps back to allow Mr. Choi to address the room.

“We’ve begun recruitment, and a few promising workers have made it on the list. I’ll pass it around for everyone’s benefit,” he retrieved a thin stack of papers from his briefcase, and passed them around to everyone on the table. His mother didn’t get one, so Sicheng stood up and gave her his copy.

“Your boss should get one too, don’t you think?”

The masked politeness was lost on Choi, he only nodded in earnest and completely missed the point. Sicheng resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

No one offered him a copy of the list, but Sicheng couldn’t be bothered either way.

“These new men will work in arms division, though some are qualified for the assassination squad, the ones highlighted. We can’t hire them all, and it’s not like the assasins do much regardless. The ones in the current arms division would be moved to the new division, the one we’ve been planning to open.”

Sicheng looked over to his mother, standing with perfect posture, face impassive as she listened. She should be doing the talking, yet Sicheng knew that the men wouldn’t listen to her. That’s why she’d married his father, so that he could pretend to be a puppet for all her schemes and plots, for her to fight her way to the top. Now her secretary spoke and took credit for all her doings, as he tried to impress other board members, where it should be the other way round. They should all bow down and beg at her feet. It’s the least they could do for her.

She looked back, her eyes showing a flash of expression, a warning. _Stop brooding before someone catches you._ He marred his features to match her expression, before turning his eyes on everyone else in the room.

Mr. Kim was the usual, so was Mr. Oh, and yet there was an air of something unfamiliar. Of mistrust.

He tuned his ears back into the speech Choi was giving.

“Soon we’d pick them up from the streets, some will even come to us like flies. What I’m saying is, there’s always a market with prostitutes.”

Sicheng faltered.

He smoothed his expressions out quick enough, but his mother caught on. He knew that look.

He wouldn’t let this happen. He could deal with narcotics and arms, but people? Never. No one deserved to be sold. Sicheng would make sure that the idea would only remain an idea, this new division would never see the light of day.

He stayed stoic until the meeting was over, until the members left, until he was alone with his mother.

“This is not happening. I refuse.”

She ignored him.

“The new recruits will be hired in two days time. Be at the building in the morning, rather, come with me. It’ll be convenient.”

“I don’t care about convenient, mother. There will be no prostitution at your organisation, not if I can help it.”

“Expansion, Sicheng. Wasn’t that your vision for the future?” She didn’t look at him as she said this, too busy reviewing files Choi had sent her. Her disregard for the topic bothered him.

“Mother,” he balled his hand into a fist, refusing to show his anger. “These are people we’re talking about. People with lives and futures. They cannot be sold as products.”

She remained silent, and Sicheng watched her, for any signs of anything.

“If you care so much for these people, Sicheng,” she finally spoke up, looking him in the eye as she did so. “What about the children making our drugs, being paid below minimum wage? What about the people we killed in an instant, once they found out anything remotely linked to us? What about the workers at the factories, manufacturing our arms, doing twelve-hour shifts to earn just enough to get by? What about them? The answer, Sicheng, is that they don’t matter.”

He looked at her with disbelief. 

“And they never will,” she concluded, sliding her folder shut, standing up from the table, deeming the conversation over.

As soon as she left, Sicheng brought this fist down on the table. He couldn’t live like this, with innocent people’s lives tainted because of events he could easily control. He couldn’t allow prostitution to even be an option here, he didn’t care about expansion. He would not ruin people’s lives like that, not for any amount of money.

He’d change it. He’d stop his mother, he’d stop the organisation, he’d destroy it if he had to. This could not happen.

~

They didn’t speak for the next few days. Sicheng remembered his agreement to greet the new employees when they came to work, and since he was a man of his word, he put on a suit and met his mother at the dining table. She drank her tea and ignored him, and Sicheng did the same.

She finished her meal first, waiting in silence as Sicheng finished his. They didn’t need words to communicate, nor did they need glances. Sicheng knew her too well.

The journey to the headquarters was tense as well, but Sicheng couldn’t care. He had to go back, sit in his room, devise a plan. He’d seen first hand the experiences a prostitute has when handled by these organisations, he wouldn’t let his future organisation become one of them. If he was doomed to succeed his mother, he would do it his way. His mother couldn’t stop him.

She sensed the discomfort but refused to acknowledge it, Sicheng knew that. She wouldn’t talk until absolutely necessary, which Sicheng was grateful for now. At least he wouldn’t lie, that way.

Sicheng adjusted his jacket for lack of better things to do. Another few minutes until they’d reach, he concluded, if the view outside was anything to go by. Another half an hour to welcome the men, then he could leave. He could plan.

The car came to a halt. Sicheng sighed, ran his fingers through his hair, rolled his eyes. His mother had to know how little he cared for this.

He followed her up to her floor, all her employees greeting her as she walked past and satisfied with the curt nods they got in response. Sicheng kept his head down and followed, hoping to not catch anyone’s attention. He’d only been here a handful of times prior, and it wasn’t exactly pleasant to have people scoffing at him for being better off than him, even if he was a child.

He only relaxed slightly when they entered the lift. It went all the way up, all fifteen floors, giving Sicheng enough time to prepare himself for the fake smiles and welcomes he’d have to give.

His mother didn’t even warn him to be careful. She walked out, confident, as the men in the room arranged themselves into a line. Sicheng was bored already.

“Ahn Minhyuck, Arms,” The excited boy extended his hand for Sicheng to take as his mother announced his name and position. Sicheng faked a smile, shook his hand, and moved on to the next person.

“Lee Doyeon, Arms,” Sicheng nodded this time, while shaking his hand. 

“Choi Hyukjae, Assassin,” Another hand shake, another smile.

Sicheng lost count of the number of men he’d greeted, but it had to be somewhere around seven. He hoped there weren't any more, but he wasn’t bothered enough to check. It would be over soon, he reminded himself. Another welcome, another shaking of hands, and Sicheng moved on to the next person. 

He met his eyes.

“Nakamoto Yuta, Assassin.”

Sicheng’s hand hovered between them, before Yuta clasped it tightly with his own, his gaze never leaving Sicheng’s.

And then, he smiled.


	2. Mass

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys! I'm sorry this took so long but I didn't want to post something I'm not happy with. also! wanted to thank everyone who left comments,, you guys are the best you literally make my day  
> let me know what you think in the comments owo

The first time Sicheng knew surprise, he knew it as a weakness. It meant he wasn’t prepared, that he’d been caught off-guard, that he was vulnerable. His seven-year-old self hadn’t comprehended much of this, but as he shook Yuta’s hand, he familiarized himself with the feeling.

His mother didn’t catch on to his concealed shock, but Yuta did. He always did.

“I’ll leave you to acquaint yourself with them, Sicheng,” she put a hand on his shoulder, a show of support, just for everyone watching. “You’ll be seeing them more often, regardless.”

He gave a curt nod, yes, he could manage this, and she made her exit, wishing everyone good luck.

There was silence, unsure silence, so Sicheng took the initiative.

“I suggest you acquaint yourselves with each other, first.”

Hesitantly, one of the men moved to introduce himself to a group of others. Sicheng watched it unfold, the inevitable awkwardness, but made no move to help. Instead, he turned back to Yuta, who was watching him with a smirk.

To Sicheng’s raised eyebrows, he responded, “You’re not good with people.”

“I believe that’s been established.”

“It has, heir.”

Sicheng allowed himself a pained expression. “Please, Yuta.”

“Welcome back. Am I the only person who has the honour of seeing your true colours?”

Teasing, Yuta was teasing, Sicheng could see it. That’s all it was. Yet, Sicheng answered honestly.

“You are, and you should be honoured.”

He held Yuta’s gaze as it moved to something deeper.

“No questions for me, prince?”

Sicheng didn’t comment on the nickname. Yuta could figure out the effect if he was dedicated enough to.

“I would ask what you’re doing here, but seeing as I had no hint to your profession, it’s not my place.”

“Always so diplomatic. It’s almost sad.”

“Almost?”

“You carry it well.”

Back to teasing, then.

“I feel the need to tell you, now that I know your position.”

“You’ve always known my position. Why now?”

“It’s the first time it’s come up.”

Sicheng held back from rolling his eyes. Yuta’s smirk evolved into a smile.

“Go on then, Mr. Assassin.”

“I worked under Mr. Oh, at the beginning of last year, got transferred to the Chinese headquarters a few months into the job. It’s been alright, but this spot opened up, and considering you’re the heir, I figured, why not.”

“Charming story.”

“Indeed. Though I must ask,” he paused, framing his thoughts. “You’re Chinese, why are you the heir to a Korean organisation?”

Sicheng sighed. “It’s a story for a longer time.”

Silence. Yuta didn’t know what to say, and Sicheng didn’t feel like filling it with unnecessary words.

“I guess we will be seeing more of each other, then.”

“I guess so.”

~

It was an unfulfilling conversation, if he looked back. Yuta had so much more to say, and so did Sicheng, but perhaps they spoke best in solidarity. Regardless, Sicheng was busy searching for alternatives - properties, luxuries, imports: there was a whole market they’d never explored, why not fall back to that?

No, because this was easier, people were easier. Stab a sedative into them and then you can have your way. Threaten them with emotional blackmail, torture, death, and you could have your way. It disgusted Sicheng. These people had adapted to live numbly, something he refused to do. Even with his belief in himself crumbling, even with his circumstances doomed, even with his prospects failing. He refused. His mother, however, didn’t even realise when she’d succumbed to the norms.

“I expect to see you tomorrow morning, training the new recruits.”

The first thing she said to him after their two day silence, and he would start an argument. Perfect.

“Then you will be disappointed. I’m not ready for it.”

“Sicheng, give it a try, at least.” Her tone was sharp, commanding, but Sicheng saw right through it. She genuinely wanted him to be there, to help out, to look like less of a puppet.

“I refuse, mother. It’s not going to happen.”

“Sicheng-”

“Besides, I’ve been trained in arson, not assassination.”

“You must consider it.”

“Or what?” This was dangerous territory, Sicheng was aware, but he would challenge his mother nonetheless. She regarded him with a long look, of disappointment and anger, but Sicheng didn’t waver. He held her gaze.

“Alright, then. Have it your way, Sicheng.”

He dipped his head instead of thanking her. He didn’t particularly feel like speaking.

She did though, it seemed.

“Meeting today, at six thirty. I expect you to be there, at least.”

He would be there, and she wouldn’t like it one bit. He would definitely be there.

~

The meeting started at precisely six thirty, and Sicheng was present, along with his plan of action.

“Continuation of last time’s agenda, the first goal has been accomplished. More staff to accommodate the new division, as expected. Now, to move on to the execution. Any questions?”

“I’d like to make a proposal, mother. If I may?”

She was clearly surprised, but only to Sicheng. To everyone else, she probably looked bored.

“Go on.”

Sicheng stood, collecting his papers as he did, and he passed one around to everyone present, including his mother. He made a motion for her to sit on his chair, but she declined with a shake of her head.

“I believe we should abolish the consideration of adding prostitution to the organisation. We clearly don’t have the proper resources or properties, nor do we have the right to take people away from their lives into one of slavery.”

As expected, no one was impressed. Sicheng could feel his mother glaring daggers into his back. Sicheng knew she’d never expect him to put forth his idea, or objection towards the idea.

It was Mr. Kim who spoke up first.

“What do you suggest we do otherwise, then?” His voice was ice cold, yet Sicheng was prepared for worse.

“Investments, property, luxuries-” 

“With all due respect, you can’t replace prostitutes with property, Mr. Dong-”

“Property? You’ve made humans into property by forcing them into prostitution. I would support this if not for the lack of consent here, Mr. Kim. You plan on snatching people from the streets, from their livelihoods, just because some rich, entitled-”

“Sicheng-”

“Apologies, mother, but I must make my point.”

“Your point is ridiculous. Everyone else does it,” Sicheng turned to lock eyes with Mr. Oh, to challenge him to go further. “We should too. It’s only expected, we are an organisation of individuals who-”

“That does not give us the right to take people’s lives away from them. I’ve seen it happen, Mr. Oh, it’s not a pleasant sight.”

‘Not a pleasant sight’ didn’t even begin to describe it, but Sicheng chose to keep his mouth shut. He’d voiced more of his thoughts in a few minutes than he’d done in the past fifteen years of his life.

“We do not care what kind of sight it is. As long as our clients are happy and as long as we get our money, it doesn’t matter.”

Sicheng physically held himself back from slamming his fist on the table. Instead, he took a calming breath, and continued in the harshest tone he could muster without yelling.

“Money and power, that’s all you care about, isn’t it?”

“Sicheng-”

He cut his mother off.

“This is the life you’re living, Mr. Oh. I don’t expect you to understand. You wouldn’t know, people like you have let the power get to your head, it’s a drug. You take more and you want more. You’ll never be satisfied with what you have.”

“Sicheng, please listen-”

“I won’t be satisfied?” Mr. Oh stood up now, and Sicheng would never back down from a challenge. “This was all for you, you ungrateful brat, for your future to be one where you rule, not cower. But you’re so hellbent on things like rights that don’t even matter-”

“They matter. They will always matter.”

“Sicheng.”

He looked back to see his mother, tone neutral to match her face, which meant Sicheng had made a mistake. A grave one.

“Yes, mother?”

“Leave this meeting. Your proposals are no longer required.”

Sicheng swallowed down his anger, nodded once, and left the room without a look back.

~

He met his mother the next morning, at the dining table. They had breakfast as usual, in contemplative silence, and Sicheng made no move to break it.

He knew his mother was angry, he knew he’d ruined his image as the perfect heir, he knew she would have to build her image back up too. He couldn’t find it in himself to care. Something had snapped in him, his image didn’t matter to him anymore. Nothing mattered to him anymore. He’d endured enough of this pathetic life, one he couldn’t even live, and he knew he could make it better for himself. He would make it better for himself.

The first thing he needed to do was get rid of the unnecessary frustration, so he thought he’d pay Yuta a visit.

If his mother was surprised that he joined her on her way to work, she didn’t show it. They didn’t speak on the way, or when they parted ways, not even the ‘be careful’ she made a point to say to him as often as possible.

So back he went to the room where he met Yuta, while his mother lingered on the ground floor to address some issues Sicheng couldn’t care for.

The room was empty when he looked in, so he moved to the one opposite it. There were a few people he recognised from the day before - Lee Doyeon, was it? The Choi fellow?

Neither of them noticed him in the doorway, too lost in a conversation about rifles, it seemed. He knocked on the door to catch their attention.

“Oh,” the one on the right said, then nudged his partner. “Uh, good morning, we were just-”

Sicheng raised a hand to silence them. “Nakamoto?”

“The next room, he went to talk to someone, I think. Sorry.”

“Thank you.”

He left them, both slightly hassled due to his presence. Good, they should be.

He found Yuta in the next room, hunched over an assortment of rifles, showing one of the new recruits how to aim. Sicheng watched him, as he lifted the rifle, gracefully, treating it like it was delicate. He turned, towards the farther wall, and tightened his grip. Slowly, he brought his face down to fit his eye to look through the lens, and he shot. 

It hit the target.

Sicheng clapped. Yuta turned, sharply, still holding the rifle, pointing it at him.

“Nakamoto,” Sicheng greeted. He lowered his weapon.

“Apologies, I was practising. I didn’t mean to raise a weapon on you.”

“All is forgiven. Follow me,” Sicheng nodded to acknowledge the other man in the room - the younger one he met, Minhyuck, he concluded. Yuta handed him the rifle, told him to practise, and walked towards Sicheng.

They walked in silence, Sicheng leading them through corridors until they reached the stairs.

“How many floors to the roof?”

“Another three, Yuta.”

“Would it be professional of me to race you there?”

“No.”

He heard Yuta sigh, and he couldn’t help but smile at that.

“Close it behind you,” Sicheng told him, once he pushed the door to the terrace open.

It was a warm day, the sun fleetingly looking over the city, few clouds visible over the skyline. Sicheng preferred the cold to this, any day. Yuta seemed to share the sentiment, if his glare upwards was anything to go by.

They stood in silence, both leaning over the railing, either looking forwards to other buildings, or looking down at the roads. Yuta broke the silence.

“Why’d you bring me up here?”

“I need to think about something, and your presence is calming, sometimes.”

Yuta clearly didn’t expect a straightforward answer.

He settled for: “That’s flattering.”

Sicheng hummed in response.

“Do you want to tell me?”

Sicheng had never been asked to share his thoughts before, regarding anything. He tried to not show the momentary happiness on his face. It wasn’t even anything big, just a few words, and really, Sicheng shouldn’t care this much about it, but for whatever reason, he did.

_It makes you feel valid,_ a voice from the back of his head told him. _That someone cares about your opinion, even if it’s in passing._

Sicheng sighed at his patheticalness.

“I shouldn’t, but I want to.”

“Go on, then.”

Sicheng turned to face him. “I will trust you to keep this between us.”

“Of course.”

Sicheng turned back to the abundance of buildings. “My mother is expanding the organisation by adding prostitution to the services we offer.”

If Yuta felt any way about this, he didn’t let it show on his face.

“I don’t want her to,” Sicheng continued. “Because arms and narcotics are different from prostitution. They’re merely products, while this regards people.”

Yuta didn’t speak for a few moments, enough for Sicheng to send him a questioning glance. “I thought you were on her side,” he explained.

Sicheng wanted to be offended, but he couldn’t bring himself to, because Yuta didn’t know him. How would he know what to assume of Sicheng’s stance on prostitution? Regardless of what he’d done, he was still the heir to an organisation that dealt in majority of the crime in his area, of course Yuta would assume he was all for blatant injustice.

“Did I offend you?”

Seems like Yuta knew him well enough to read him.

“A bit, but I don’t blame you.”

“Apologies, I shouldn’t have assumed.”

“No, it’s quite alright. I understand where you’re coming from.”

“Right.”

Sicheng didn’t know how to respond to that, and neither did Yuta. For the first time since he’d met the assassin, Sicheng could say there was an awkward silence.

“So, what are you planning to do about it?”

“That’s the problem, Yuta. I have no clue what to do.”

“I assume you’ve tried talking to her?”

“You assume correctly, and you can probably assume how well that went, too.”

“Not good, I take it.”

“She shunned me from the meeting. It was embarrassing.”

Yuta quirked a smile, accompanied by a small laugh, and Sicheng turned away from the buildings to look at him.

Not for the first time since he’d seen him, Sicheng thought Yuta was beautiful.

His gaze remained on the tops of buildings a few blocks down and his smile remained on his lips, oblivious to Sicheng’s staring. Or not, Sicheng wasn’t sure when it came to Yuta. He wasn’t sure about much when it came to Yuta, but he was sure that he’d rather be with him than anywhere else.

Yuta’s eyes flicked to him, and Sicheng looked intently, not sure of what his eyes reflected.

His smile grew. “What are you looking at?”

“You.”

“Yes,” Yuta faced him. “I can see that.”

Sicheng watched in a daze, how the corners of Yuta’s mouth lifted, curving his lips upwards, breaking into a wide stretch, maxillary teeth peeking from under it.

Unknowingly, he smiled too.

“I’m going to blush if you keep this up, and that would be uncharacteristic of me.”

Sicheng looked away, and now Yuta gazed at him, mimicking the way Sicheng looked at him earlier. Perhaps it was mockery, perhaps it was genuine. Sicheng didn’t know. Perhaps he didn’t want to know.

Yuta looked away after a few seconds, down to his hands, then back up to the skyline. Sicheng noticed the faint red dusting his cheeks, but didn’t comment on it.

“So,” Yuta cleared his throat. “What are you planning to do?”

“I don’t know. Help me clear my thoughts.”

“And how am I to do that?”

“Talk me through it,” Sicheng switched to leaning his back on the railing, it was easier to face Yuta. “What do you think I should do?”

“Well, Sicheng,” Yuta crossed his wrists, one over the other, and leaned forward to rest himself on his elbows. It was strangely similar to the last time they’d met, and Sicheng wondered whether Yuta was thinking the same thing.

“We resort to conventional methods, if direct ones don’t have an effect.”

“You want me to undermine my mother?”

“Not exactly undermine, more like disobey. Are you up for that?”

“Am I up for that?” Sicheng tilted his head back, closed his eyes, and smiled. “I have disobeyed her enough for her to disown me.”

“Then why hasn’t she?”

“She needs an heir,” Sicheng replied easily, the sun casting a glow over his face. He could feel Yuta staring.

“Then you take that away from her.”

Sicheng lifted his head at that, regarding Yuta with unsure eyes. “You want me to run away again? Until she begs me to come back, saying that she’ll do anything?”

“Not what I was going for, but I guess that would work too.”

“I can’t,” Sicheng resumed his previous position, closing his eyes once more. “She’ll never let me return. Even if she doesn’t go through with the prostitution thing to keep me here, she’d strip me of all of my freedom. There’s no point.”

“No running away, then. Emotional blackmail? Say you’ll take your life?”

“Even I’m not that cruel, Yuta.”

“Yes, you aren’t.”

Sicheng sighed. “None of the board members listen to me, so that’s not an option. I can’t exactly start a rebellion, and I can’t do much until I’m in power.”

Yuta raised his eyebrows. Sicheng could see him do that, even with his eyes closed.

“I’m not going to kill my mother, Yuta.”

“There are ways to kill someone without actually murdering them, you would know.”

Sicheng’s head shot up. He met Yuta’s pernicious eyes. “Destroy her reputation?”

“Among other things.”

“Go on.”

“First, make sure you’re completely unsuitable. Embarrass yourself, and she’d be embarrassed too. She’ll stop taking you to public events. Then you slowly start to sneak off and make it obvious that you’re sneaking off, that you’re disobeying her. Make sure everyone knows what a bad heir you are. Go accidently expose some things to the police when you’re drunk and that’s that. Get her arrested. If you’re feeling particularly ambitious, get her killed. I guarantee that nothing will happen after that.”

Sicheng pursed his lips. “It’s a solid plan, I’ll give you that. You need to sort through the details and timing, but you already have the heir, so it’ll work.”

“Is that a compliment, coming from you?”

“It is, and I’m not going through with it.”

“Why not?”

“Because my mother has covered all her traces. She doesn’t trust me, and with good reason.”

“Oh, I remember.”

Yuta seemed to be full of surprises. Sicheng wasn’t surprised.

“Care to explain?”

Yuta exhaled, similar to sigh, like he was preparing to tell a story he didn’t want to tell.

“I used to work in Korea, back when you hadn’t expanded, and I used to see you every day, walking around like you owned the place. Which, I later found out, that you did. I was training then, and they sent me to do paperwork, something about shipments. Anyway, it didn’t matter, because I saw you looking at me.”

“The walk.” Sicheng absently said.

“I asked about you, a while after that, turned out you were the heir. I also saw your temper tantrum.”

“Goodness, please don’t remind me.”

Yuta gave him a different smile, one which couldn’t mean well.

“Just before you ran away, you shouted at your mother-”

“Shut up.”

“Accused her of killing your father, told her you’d never return,” A dramatic pause. “Yet, look where you are now.”

Sicheng wanted to hide his face in his hands, but he’d never done that before, so he wasn’t going to start now. Nonetheless, the notion was inviting.

“I don’t blame you, but damn, that was weak.”

“I don’t need this from you, Yuta.”

Yuta started at his sharp tone.

"I've crossed a line, haven’t I?"

Sicheng had it in him to be upset, and he should be, he hadn't spoken to anyone about his past, much less joked about it. But the thing is, Yuta didn't care. It didn't matter to him what Sicheng had done, what he'd become, why he'd done it. The past didn't matter to Yuta.

Sicheng felt a rush of gratefulness for the man - no, boy, he was around Sicheng's age - standing opposite him with a mildly distressed expression. Like he'd hurt Sicheng. Like he cared that he hurt Sicheng.

So, no, he couldn't bring himself to be upset with Yuta.

"It's alright, just don't bring it up again. I know what I've done, and I'm not proud of it, so I'd rather not dwell on it."

Yuta hesitated for a moment before placing his palm on Sicheng's cheek. Sicheng's eyes fell shut on instinct, leaning his head back once more.

"I'm sorry," he stroked his thumb across Sicheng's skin, a comforting notion. "I didn't mean to mock you."

Sicheng hummed, content with Yuta's skin on his, more so with the fact that Yuta felt genuinely bad. That was new. It was truly pathetic how many firsts he'd had with Yuta, like he'd never lived his life before meeting him. He had, though, and he hadn't liked it, but if this was living, then Sicheng would do it every day.

Feelings, he decided, weren't as bad as he was taught they were.

"Sicheng," Yuta murmured, after a few more moments of silence, hand still on his face. "Does it bother you that I know more about you than you about me?"

Sicheng turned his face to graze Yuta's fingers with his lips. "Often," his words were muffled by his skin. "But I know you're genuine, so it doesn't matter too much."

He opened his eyes to see Yuta nod, his eyes clouded over by lust or pensiveness, or lustful pensiveness.

He kissed along Yuta's metacarpals, before kissing the side of his last finger. "Will you tell me?"

"If you want me to."

“I do.”

Yuta dragged his hand up, combed back Sicheng’s hair, rested it at the nape of his neck.

“My father wasn’t financially stable enough to support my education. He made some wrong decisions, borrowed money from the wrong people,” Yuta shifted to stand in front of him, idly placing his other hand on the railing behind them, the railing Sicheng was leaning on. “Eventually, I did finish my education, and when I did, I was immediately hired by Mr. Oh’s company. My father said it was to pay off debts, just a few years, and I could go to college.”

“But?”

“He got drunk a lot. Not your model parent, but he did care for me. He got sick one day, and the bills were too much for me to pay. So I borrowed some money, in exchange for another few years of my life. The thing is, though, my father died over a year back, and my mother left when I was a child. I don’t have a reason to go back.”

Sicheng inhaled. He didn’t know what to tell Yuta, he wouldn’t want an apology, or sympathy.

“Do you miss him?” he asked instead, a neutral question.

Yuta sighed, looked up to the sky. “Sometimes. Not really,” he looked back down, into Sicheng’s eyes.

“Do you?”

“Never.”

“He never cared for me, or my mother,” Sicheng added, in reply to Yuta’s raised eyebrows. “Just wanted the money. For what, I still don’t know.”

“And your mother let him?”

Sicheng snorted. “He didn’t know shit. He needed my mother to get that money. When he did, he ran.”

“Wow.”

“I know. Mother saw it coming though, and he was found dead a few weeks later.”

“How old were you?”

“Nine? Ten? Old enough to know what was going on.”

Yuta looked at him with something akin to pity in his eyes. “That’s sad and messed up.”

“It is what it is.”

“I guess that’s true.”

Sicheng wondered whether he should ask Yuta about his childhood. It would be strange of him to do so, but Yuta and him weren’t strangers to strange. Would it make them friends, though, if they weren’t already? What were they?

He could figure out both.

“Tell me about your childhood.”

The question caught Yuta off guard, he blinked at Sicheng twice before saying, “What?”

Sicheng rolled his eyes. “I’m curious, and we’re friends.”

“Friends, huh?” Yuta’s voice dipped dangerously low, and it didn’t go unnoticed that he avoided the question. His hand moved from Sicheng’s shoulder to cup his face again. “I’m sure friends don’t have secret rendezvous to resolve sexual tension.”

“So that’s what we’re calling it? ‘Secret rendezvous to resolve sexual tension’?”

“What would you rather we call it?”

Yuta was doing it again, bordering on teasing and serious, eliciting Sicheng’s reaction for his satisfaction. His other hand settled over Sicheng’s on the railing, silently asking him not to move. Sicheng obliged, he always did, he always would. He looked Yuta in the eyes, beckoned him closer by curling his bottom lip into his mouth, and tilted his head to whisper in Yuta’s ear.

“Romantic.”

He crossed a line and he knew it.

Yuta’s breath hitched, unconcealed, bare for Sicheng.

“Does that bother you?”

“Not in the slightest,” Yuta whispered back.

Sicheng could feel his heartbeat, faster than Sicheng’s, so he pulled him closer, snaked an arm around his waist, cautiously leaned down to leave a kiss on his neck.

Yuta tilted his head back, giving Sicheng access, giving him permission. “Go on,” he said, “Make your mark.”

Sicheng ghosted his breath over Yuta’s trachea. He should feel what he’d made Sicheng endure earlier, he should suffer for it. Yuta made an impatient noise somewhere above him so Sicheng pulled his hair as an answer, tilted his head back until he could see the sky, until the sun became too much and he had to close his eyes, bite his lip, stop himself from complaining. This was what Sicheng liked about them, how Yuta completely understood what he wanted and indulged him, because Sicheng knew that Yuta wanted the same.

He kissed down Yuta’s neck, a reward, chaste and quick because he wasn’t finished yet, then kissed up to his jaw, where he moved to the lobe of his ear.

“I’m not going to do anything of the sort,” Yuta’s fingers shifted to the back of his neck, tightened their hold. “Unless I do it properly.”

And that stirred something in Yuta, Sicheng knew it would, so he sighed, murmured, “You’re going to be the death of me, Sicheng.”

“I know,” he let go of Yuta, urged Yuta to do the same. “Now get back to work, I’ll plan how to blackmail my mother.”

“I thought you weren’t going for that?”

“Not bribe her by taking my life, I’ll bribe her with something more precious.”

“The only thing more precious to her than your life is- oh.” Realisation dawned on Yuta’s face, like a ripple that would evolve into a wave. He took a step back, and gave Sicheng a shocked yet impressed look.

“I thought you said you weren’t that cruel.”

“Turns out I’m crueler.”

“My goodness, Sicheng,” Yuta took another step back. “You’re something else.”

“I return the sentiment.”

A beat of silence. Yuta regarded him with a mix of shock and desire painted on his face, until the desire took over completely. Sicheng smirked.

“Why do I find it so attractive?” he took a step toward Sicheng.

“That I’m cruel?”

“That you won’t be cruel to me.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because you’ll listen to me when I tell you not to.”

“What if I don’t?”

“Come find out.”

Yuta turned his back to him and left, leaving the door open behind him.

It seemed like they could never properly draw a close to their conversations.

~

He met Yuta at the building again, sometime during his planning phase. He meant to ask him his opinion on the procedure, before realising he didn’t ask people for their opinions. What scared him wasn’t the fact that he was doing something unusual, it was the fact that he was using this unusual thing as an excuse to meet Yuta. He didn’t really care if Yuta thought he was wrong, he didn’t care what Yuta thought about it, but Sicheng would like to hear it regardless. He would like to hear a lot of things from Yuta.

Each of his footsteps seemed to echo regret as he walked to Yuta’s practice room, but he kept on. He was stronger than whatever strangeness (he knew what it was, he wouldn’t admit it) was taking over him, and he’d be gone before he could ponder much on it.

Wrong. He was wrong.

Yuta was practising again, shooting the same target on the wall over and over. He wore no gear to protect him from the sound, neither did he wear the safety glasses that hung dejectedly on the nether wall. He aimed, he shot, he repeated. The sounds reverberated throughout the room, yet he stood, unbothered, focused.

Sicheng watched him, and the feeling settled over him again: he was content with watching, he felt a satisfaction that Yuta was doing well – he was happy for Yuta.

The realisation was daunting, but Sicheng held back the shudder that threatened to expose him. He’d wait a little longer, for Yuta to stop by himself, instead of interrupting him.

“I can feel your presence, Sicheng,” Yuta shot again, hit the mark. “You’re very loud when it’s just us.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Whatever you want it to.”

Sicheng rolled his eyes, stepped into the room instead of standing in the doorway.

“You have a bold personality, you tend to spread it - you tend to conquer the room when you walk into one.”

“That’s…something I hadn’t noticed.”

Which was unusual, Sicheng noticed everything about himself, and to think he hadn’t noticed what effect he has on other people? That was majority of his image he didn’t know.

“Then again, it could just be me.”

Now, what was _that_ supposed to mean? Yuta was making him question everything, what had he done to him?

(Sicheng knew. He wished he didn’t.)

“Wanted to speak to me?” Yuta asked, putting down his rifle and tilting his head to stretch his neck.

Sicheng almost let it slip that he didn’t have a reason.

“I want your opinion on something. Shall we go upstairs?”

“Interesting,” Yuta motioned for him to leave the room, following after him once he switched off the lights. “The great Sicheng, asking me for his opinion? The same guy who wears a cold image because he doesn’t want to vulnerable? The same one who refuses to show any emotion because he’s scared of judgement? The same person who does everything with such careful consideration as to not mess up, who has probably thought his plan through so many times he could execute it himself? That Sicheng? I have to laugh.”

Yuta was teasing, he knew, but the words struck deep. Yuta knew him too well, and Sicheng was afraid – not that he didn’t trust Yuta, no, that Yuta saw him for who he really was, deeply flawed, but he still stayed.

Apparently, it showed on his face.

“Hey, Sicheng,” Yuta stopped him by holding on to his wrist. His tone changed so quickly, so unpredictably, to something softer, something caring.

“Don’t worry, I don’t judge you, I understand. Don’t hold yourself back with me.”

The words sent Sicheng reeling – this was too much for him, too sudden - how could push down the truth when it slipped so easily?

“Okay,” he chose, followed by a nod. “Okay, Yuta. I get it.”

_And I know you feel the same._

Yuta smiled, and that was all the confirmation Sicheng needed. He dropped his wrist and held out his palm. Sicheng took it.

It was so foreign, but Sicheng felt familiarity in those hands, something he could fall back on, something he could trust.

Their fingers intertwined, and Sicheng sighed. It was comfortable.

~

It was a cloudy day, luckily. They sat opposite each other on the dirty floor of the roof, Sicheng, explaining the logistics to Yuta, and Yuta, playing with his fingers as he did so.

“What do you think?” he asked, once he’d covered the majority of it. Yuta hummed, gripped onto Sicheng’s fingers, then released them.

“I think you have pretty hands.”

“Really?”

“Yes. There’s a flaw.”

“Which is?”

“I’m not involved at all. How am I supposed to see you when you’re busy with this?”

Sicheng spluttered. For the first time since he’d gotten used to his life, he was too surprised for words.

“What?”

“Relax,” Yuta graced a lazy smile. “You’re doing great, I’m concerned about your connections, though. Can they be trusted?”

“For enough money, yes.”

“And where will you get that?”

“Don’t think I wouldn’t indulge in thievery.”

“Fair.”

A few moments of silence passed. Yuta seemed to mull over something as he gazed at the railing, over to the buildings.

“Well,” Yuta patted his thigh, stood up. “It’s a great plan, but only if it’ll work.”

“It will.”

“Your confidence is almost inspiring.” Yuta said, now leaning over the railing.

“Almost?” Sicheng asked, joining him. The air had a bite to it, not pleasant but not harsh.

“If only you believed it.”

“How can you tell?”

“I can’t, but I had a feeling.”

“Right.”

Dangerous territory. He was not used to this. He couldn’t get used to this; what if Yuta didn’t stay? Besides, he’d worked on his self-confidence enough. If he hadn’t, he would’ve been consumed by the chaos of his world. He’d end up like his mother – image so strong he forgot who he was.

“Believe in it, Sicheng, believe in yourself. That’s the only way it’ll work.”

“I believe in the odds. They speak for themselves.”

“I’m serious. See yourself for who you are. You’re not this stone-cold, mindless, numb-to-everything person. You’re brilliant. You’re fierce, you strive for what’s right, not for what you want. That’s admirable.”

“Just don’t, Yuta.”

Sicheng didn’t do heartfelt conversations, Sicheng didn’t do praise, Sicheng didn’t do ‘seeing himself or who he is’. That’s not him.

“No. Listen to me, Sicheng. I don’t want your defence mechanism nonsense. You deserve it to believe in yourself.”

What did Yuta know about what he deserved? Absolutely nothing. He didn’t know half of what Sicheng had done, how could he expect Sicheng to believe in himself so easily? He couldn’t speak to him like that. He couldn’t speak to him like Sicheng had never tried and he didn’t care. Yuta didn’t know.

“Drop it.”

“Please, Sicheng. Believe me-”

“Believe me when I say I’ve tried, Yuta. It doesn’t always work, but I’ve always tried, and I can’t trust it to work again. So no, I will not merely believe in myself and hope for the best. It’s not-”

“I’m not asking you to ‘merely’ believe in yourself, Sicheng. Trust that you can do this-”

“I have tried, Yuta.” Sicheng said, his tone final, and Yuta shrunk back. “Just stop. Don’t make me go over the whole cycle again.”

“Make you? Are you that unwilling to try again?”

“Stop.”

Yuta leaned back, pinched the bridge of his nose. What did he have to be frustrated about? He wasn’t the one single-handedly executing a plan which needed months of preparation, he wasn’t the one who tried and failed, if everything came so easy to him he should just go ahead and try to do it himself. Put himself in Sicheng’s shoes.

“You’re really not going to at least listen to me?”

“Yuta, please-”

“No-”

It happened too suddenly, Yuta leaned forward and momentarily lost his balance, tripping towards the railings. It wouldn’t have mattered, really, whether Sicheng instinctively held his arm out to stop him from falling over or not. There were railings, he knew that, but he still tried to break Yuta’s fall.

Yuta steadied himself with the railing, then looked down to Sicheng’s outstretched arm, and back up to him. He could read Yuta’s face because he thought the same.

Sicheng retracted his arm, set it back atop the railing.

Yuta cleared his throat. “I’m sorry. I should understand where you’re coming from, instead of assuming you’re lazy.”

The words registered, in some part of his brain that wasn’t occupied with the fact that he’d tried to save Yuta’s life, even if it wasn’t necessary for him to do so, since he wasn’t going to fall anyway. But he’d tried, and that meant something, and now he cared for Yuta, he cared for his safety – it was too much to think over so he pushed it away and didn’t bother.

“Sicheng?”

“Oh. Right, sorry. What were you saying?”

“I apologised. I shouldn’t have assumed-”

“It’s alright. I know you mean well, I shouldn’t get so worked up over it. I think I have it in me to try again.”

Yuta smiled at him in reply and Sicheng felt it, he let himself feel it. He couldn’t focus, though Yuta said something along the lines of “it’s alright to get worked up, I get it” and proceeded to place his hand over Sicheng’s on the railing.

When had Yuta become so important to him?

~

Sicheng didn’t speak to his mother for the next week, and neither did she. If he were to take his plan forward, he would need to spend as much time doing what was expected of him. He read, cooped up in the library for hours on end, played games on his phone. His mother didn’t ask for him, or look for him, but he knew she asked her bodyguard to keep an eye on him. She knew Sicheng knew, so Sicheng went on as usual.

It wasn’t until the second day of the second week that she spoke to him.

“If you dislike it so, I’ll consider waiting.”

And all of Sicheng’s ulterior motives dissolved like his mother’s sugar in her tea.

“Waiting until what?”

“Until you come up with something better.”

He ducked his head, focused on his food instead. “I will try.”

“I hope you succeed.”

Sicheng watched her with gratefulness, openly, because he didn’t know how to express it to her in words. He couldn’t speak to her, he didn’t know how to, but he could show it on his face. It was the least he could do.

She sipped her tea and set down her cup, nodded at him, acknowledged his reply.

He was not going to do anything. He’d planned everything out during the past week: he’d start small, mess up things that could easily be brushed off: minor payments, accidental deaths, a few missing people. Then he’d liquefy all their assets and donate the money. A few months later, he’d start rumours, only on the lower levels, enough for people to question where they chose to work. It’ll start to crumble then, his mother’s lovely organisation, which she valued more than Sicheng’s life. He’d sabotage important investments, anonymously, let her question who on the inside would betray them so.

Then he’d leave, but not without forging papers to expose her for killing off his father. Of course, deaths weren’t uncommon, especially in their line of work, but after his mother had vehemently denied all accusations of killing him, this would take a blow on her. They may not value morals, but they did value honesty. She’d search for a way to get her reputation back up, host a banquet, only to find that she only has the money credited to her account.

She would figure it out by then, but Sicheng would be long gone, perhaps living his life in a foreign country with people who knew nothing about him.

It only took him a few hours to come up with it, but a long time to plan out his events, in order, with dates, and contacts. But it all fell to pieces with a single sentence.

He would not proceed. Not if his mother was willing to wait, which wasn’t his ideal escape, but it was something. He would take it without complaints.

“I will try,” he repeated, with purpose. This couldn’t slip out of his hands, he’d make sure of it.

~

“I’m not doing anything.”

Yuta openly gaped at him. “Why not? Changed your mind?”

“She offered me time.”

That was the end of the conversation. Yuta sighed and kicked his feet against the concrete wall. They were on a roof again, only this time it was at Sicheng’s house, on Sicheng’s roof. He’d dragged Yuta back home with him the day after speaking to his mother, and no one questioned him, except, of course, Yuta himself.

“Why?” he had asked, intertwining his fingers with Sicheng’s as opposed to having his wrist held. Sicheng stopped in his tracks, looked down at their joined hands, then looked back up while shaking his head. Yuta watched the scenario fondly.

“I’ll explain in due time,” he had told him, as he pushed Yuta into the car. Sicheng got in next, closed the divider between the passenger seat and the driver after telling him to take them home, then put his lips to Yuta’s neck to cease all conversation.

They reached home before Sicheng could do any real damage. Still, Yuta stopped asking questions. He sat, gazing thoughtfully at Sicheng when Sicheng was done with him, and Sicheng let him. It didn’t faze him in the slightest.

So Sicheng lead an obedient Yuta up to his roof and sat on the ledge, patting the spot next to him for Yuta to sit.

He did, and Sicheng told him.

Yuta sighed again, kicked the wall harder.

“What are you doing?”

“Thinking.”

“Think any harder and you’ll fall off.”

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

Yuta raised his eyebrows. “Really? That’s the lamest way to ask me to kiss you.”

“How would you rather I do it, then?”

“Properly, like you said earlier.”

Sicheng couldn’t argue with that. He spun, planting both his feet on the floor of the terrace, and stood. Yuta made no move to stand.

“Come, I’ll show you around.”

“I need to go back to work, Sicheng. I can’t take a leisurely house tour, some of us have jobs.”

“But you don’t like what you do. Skip a day.”

“How do you know I don’t like what I do, Sicheng?” Yuta turned his neck, enough to look Sicheng in the eye.

“I have my ways.”

“At least you’re not wrong.”

“What would you rather be, then?”

“Sit,” Yuta told him, and Sicheng did, his back toward the sky.

“No, not like that. Turn around.”

“Why?” Sicheng asked, spinning again to sit how he previously was.

“It’s dangerous, you’ll fall.”

“Care about my safety?”

“You speak like you don’t care for mine.”

That made Sicheng go quiet and look away from Yuta.

“Hey now, don’t give me your brooding face.”

“I’m not brooding. What would you rather be?”

It took Yuta a moment to trace back to their previous conversation. “A nurse.”

“That’s a bit… different.”

“I’m well aware.”

“Any particular reason?”

“Save as many lives as I’ve taken.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“I have to admire that.” 

Yuta snorted. “You have to?”

“You know what I mean. I admire that.”

“Right.”

“No one cares for the lives they’ve taken here, and yes, that’s messed up, but it’s even more messed up to find someone who does.”

“You’re not helping your case in any way.”

“What I mean is, you’re brave to believe that, and if you actually manage to do it, I admire you for it.”

“Okay, Sicheng, whatever you say.”

“Yuta-”

But then Yuta laughed, and Sicheng realised too late he was teasing. He looked down, he felt his cheeks heat up. How embarrassing. Damn Yuta.

“Chill. I’m a pretty rubbish assassin, anyway.”

“Really?” Sicheng looked up and immediately regretted it, his cheeks were heating up for a completely different reason now. Yuta smiled at him.

“I don’t like it. I managed to make a few decent shots and I run fast, so they put me in the squad. I’d rather be on the medical side of things.”

“Did you study medicine? At all?”

“I wanted to. I’ll learn, though.”

“Let’s see if anything can be done.”

“What? You’ll transfer me? I can request a change, you know.”

“Then why haven’t you?”

Yuta sighed. “I don’t know. I didn’t expect to get anywhere doing this.”

“And you can’t exactly escape.”

“I can’t exactly escape.”

Another sigh. Sicheng felt Yuta regard him with a heavy gaze. 

“Go on.” He said.

“What?”

“You want to ask me something. Go ahead, Yuta.”

“Is there anywhere to walk around here?”

“I know that’s not your question.”

“I know, too.”

“Garden’s huge. Come on.”

Sicheng followed Yuta when he stood. The weather was getting warmer, nearing afternoon, and Sicheng wondered if Yuta was planning to go back to work at all. Perhaps he should request another plate at the table for lunch.

“Not going to hold my hand now?”

“You want me to?”

“If you want it as well.”

Sicheng knew what to make of that, so he held his hand out for Yuta to take, lead him down the stairs.

“It’s strange, you know.”

“I do.”

“You didn’t know what I was going to say.”

“Sorry?”

“You always know what everyone’s going to say. Why not me?”

“You’re different from them, Yuta. I don’t know.”

“Is it because I’m like you?” 

“Like me, how?”

“We both don’t want to be here, both mask ourselves.” 

“You sound quite fake deep.”

“I mean, it’s true.”

“Yes, I suppose it is.”

“But we’re not alone that way, because that’s everyone else too.”

“Then why are we the same, Yuta? Why can’t I read you?”

“I think,” He tugged on Sicheng’s hand, pulling them to a stop at the front door. “I think it’s because you don’t want to.”

Sicheng faced him. “And why would I not want to?”

“That’s the thrill of it, really. You don’t know what to expect. That’s missing from your life.”

“And I found it in you?”

“And I found it in you, too.”  
Sicheng decided he had become too attached to Yuta to let him go if it were necessary. He couldn’t leave now, like he’d planned earlier. He couldn’t run away, unless Yuta went with him.

“Sicheng?”

“Yes?”

“You zoned out a bit.”

“Oh,” Sicheng said. “Oh, okay. Garden. Will you be staying for lunch?”

“I suppose so,” Yuta quirked a smile, and Sicheng obliged. 

Lunch was rather lovely, according to Sicheng. They ate with comfortable conversation, Yuta didn’t border on any particularly personal questions after last time. He did, however, ask about Sicheng’s childhood. So Sicheng told him, about the independence, the repression, the sheer loneliness. He spoke as if it no longer affected him, well aware that was a lie. Yuta saw right through him, of course. He didn’t comment though, much to Sicheng’s gratefulness. He didn’t want to ruin the day by talking about his problems. They had other days for that.

He, in turn, asked Yuta about his childhood. Yuta smiled at his plate, penseivelly. He nodded, as if deciding something for himself, and told Sicheng. He used to get teased for his Korean, and he’d go home and cry about it to his mother until he came home to no mother. Since then, it’s only been him and his father, dull on most occasions, but the few, far apart moments where he felt happy made him want to stay. He didn’t speak much after that, so Sicheng decided not to prod.

“It was good, though,” Yuta told him. “It gave me a reason. I don’t have that privilege anymore.”

“Why would you say that?”

“What’s your purpose, Sicheng?”

“Rule. Conquer. Die.”

“You know that’s not it.”

“It isn’t. Shall we go upstairs?”

“Lead the way,” Yuta shrugged, perhaps dismissing the discussion, perhaps dismissing their lunch.

“I don’t care much for purpose, Yuta.”

“Yes, I see that.”

Sicheng rolled his eyes. “It’s more about what I can do, short term. That’s another reason my plan wouldn’t have worked well. I’m too impulsive.”

“You’re not.”

“I literally ran away from home because of a fight.”

“Ah,” Yuta paused. “You make a good point.”

Sicheng rolled his eyes again, opened the door to his room, unceremoniously flopped onto his bed. Yuta followed, though he kept his distance from Sicheng, like he was unsure.

“I used to think you wear suits at home.”

That wasn’t an ideal conversation starter, but Sicheng replied anyway.

“I used to.”

“What? For real?” Yuta propped himself up on his elbows and kicked off his shoes. Sicheng followed, though he toed his shoes off and remained face-first in the mattress.

“Yep. I had an argument with my mother about it.”

“She wouldn’t wear heels around the house. I refuse to believe it.”

“Wait until she gets back. She probably sleeps in a suit too.”

“I can’t believe you people live like this.”

“Believe it, Yuta,” Sicheng faced him. “It’s not as grand as you expect, though.”

“It’s pretty grand.”

“Hm.”

“Hey,” Yuta nudged him with his elbow. “Don’t fall asleep.”

“Why?” Sicheng mumbled.

“I won’t have anyone to talk to.”

“Sleep, then.”

“Just find a shortcut for anything, why don’t you?”

“It’s called being lazy. Now hold me.”

Yuta rolled his eyes but obliged, muttered something that included ‘demanding’ and ‘drowsy’. Sicheng hummed when Yuta wrapped his arms around him, settled his head on Yuta’s chest.

“I can’t sleep in these trousers, you know.”

“Change,” Sicheng muttered, vaguely gesturing at his cupboard. “I have sweats, contrary to popular belief.”

Sicheng felt Yuta stiffen against him. He wanted to ask what was wrong, but Yuta shrugged him off and ventured to Sicheng’s cupboards. Sicheng rolled over, stretching his arms over his head, slotting his fingers together and flexing them.

“Don’t look,” Yuta told him as he turned.

“Hm,” he looked away.

Sicheng didn’t know what he was doing. He should get used to it, considering he had no idea where anything was going with Yuta. Everything was horribly mangled, whether it was merely attraction or something more, which he got surer of on every instance they met, whether Yuta felt the same - he should know. He always knew.

But he didn’t know now. Did Yuta think about him too? Did Yuta lose sleep over him, like Sicheng had done, did he want to spend hours upon hours discussing the most irrelevant things, like Sicheng did? Did he want to hold Sicheng and fall asleep, wake him up to his voice and his smile and his fingers, like Sicheng wanted? Would he touch Sicheng like Sicheng wanted, tenderly but mercilessly, a prayer and a curse, loving him and destroying him? Would he call Sicheng’s name like the sweetest melody, honey dripping down his lips, or like leather taut across his throat, an unrelenting command?

Would he stay, once it’s all over?

Sicheng stopped his train of thought there.

“What’s got you so hassled?”

“Hm, nothing.”

“Really?”

And when Sicheng looked up to see Yuta, kneeling over the bed, hair mussed and sweater slightly hanging over one of his shoulders, he sighed. Bare and beautiful, just for him to see.

“You’re ethereal.”

“I am the farthest thing from ethereal, Sicheng.”

Yuta nudged him to the side and Sicheng complied, making space for Yuta on his bed.

“But you look ethereal.”

“I do not.”

“Exquisite, unearthly, sublime, beautiful, uh-” A pause, Yuta smiled. “Divine.”

“I rather like ‘uh, divine’.”

“Shut up.” 

Sicheng rolled to his other side, his back facing Yuta. A sigh, followed by fingers tracing his shoulder blades. Neither of them spoke, and he nearly dozed off.

“I’ve never done this before.”

Sicheng furrowed his brows before realising Yuta couldn’t see him.

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve never, like, slept in someone else’s bed. It’s usually more doing and less, you know, proper sleeping.”

“There’s a first time for everything, Yuta.”

_I would know._

“You’re right.” Yuta mumbled, against Sicheng’s back. The soft fabric welcomed him as he pushed his body forwards, hesitantly wrapping his arms around Sicheng’s waist and hugging him from behind, while his legs fit into the crook of Sicheng’s.

He could get used to this. Yuta’s warmth enveloped him like a blanket, and he felt the protectiveness through the layers.

“Before you ask, this is okay.”

“Good, then,” Yuta’s body went lax over his, settling into the embrace. Sicheng shifted closer.

“There’s a blanket, if you want.”

“Hm.”

“Foot of my bed.”

“No, it’s okay,” Yuta said something else, but it was muffled in Sicheng’s t-shirt. 

When Sicheng asked him to repeat, he hooked his chin over Sicheng’s shoulder for Sicheng to hear him clearly. He gave a lopsided smile, the kind where he’s a bit sleep-addled and doesn’t know he’s smiling.

Sicheng smiled, too.

“I said, this is enough.”

He fell back to Sicheng’s side, pulling him closer than before, a vain attempt to eliminate all space between them.

_Right,_ Sicheng thought, curling into himself. _This is enough._

~

“What are you saying?”

Sicheng woke up to mumbling, somewhere near the back of his ear, and he involuntarily jerked awake, stabbing Yuta with his elbow.

“Sorry,” then, “What’re you saying?”

“Talking to myself, Sicheng. Go back to sleep.” he whispered, as if to protect the atmosphere they’d created - speaking too loudly would destroy it.

“Okay,” Sicheng said. He closed his eyes and burrowed closer to Yuta, who tightened his grip. He muttered some more words against Sicheng’s neck, then sighed. 

In a decision of haste, Sicheng said, “Leave your number.”

“Sorry?”

“Text me when you get home - I’ll probably still be asleep when you leave.”

“Alright, Sicheng,” he nudged Sicheng’s cheek with his nose, so Sicheng turned to face him, and Yuta kissed his cheek.

“Sleep. I’ll wake you up before I leave.” 

And he pressed closer to Sicheng still, as if he didn’t just do the most intimate thing to Sicheng since the beginning of their relationship.

Sicheng turned back, face burning, and he felt like a child. He could ponder over this when he was less tired, he mused, before shoving it to a corner of his mind and settling against Yuta once again.

~

The second time he woke, Yuta was gone. There was a note scribbled onto a sheet of paper that was left on his bedside, probably torn from the abundance of unnecessary notepads on his desk. It read, ‘you looked too relaxed, i didn’t want to wake you :( my number :)’ followed by ten digits Sicheng typed into his phone quicker than he’d read them.

To call or to text, Sicheng mused. To call it is. 

Yuta picked up like he was awaiting it.

“Hey,” he greeted, unceremoniously. 

“Hey,” Sicheng replied. “You should’ve woken me.”

“I didn’t want to.”

“Why’d you leave?”

“I can’t disappear from work like that, Sicheng. Also, I don’t want to face my boss after I wake up in her son’s bed.”

“Plausible. I’ll come over next time.”

“Next time? Aren’t we getting a little ahead of ourselves?”

Goodness, Sicheng really had to relearn how to hold his tongue. Everything was too easy around Yuta.

“Are you saying you’d rather not have a next time?”

“No, a next time would be lovely.”

~

A next time came, later than Sicheng had hoped.

They’d met a few more times, talked for hours on the roof about everything and nothing, Yuta even showed him how to shoot. (Not that Sicheng didn’t know, but he pretended for the sake of Yuta’s amusement.)

“You seem contemplative,” Sicheng mused, one dull afternoon. They’d forgone their usual routine of the roof and picked a café near the building. 

(“I’m hungry, but not hungry, you know? There’s a word for it, something...packish.”

“You mean peckish, Yuta.”

“Yes, that. Buy me food.”)

“I’m planning something,” Yuta told him easily.

Sicheng nudged his share of cake to Yuta. “What is this something?”

“Just eat the cake, Sicheng, it won’t kill you. I’m not telling you the plan.”

And Sicheng, filled with uncertainty and insecurities, incapable of controlling what he spoke anymore, in a moment of short-lived brazenness, said,

“Why? Is this the part where you reveal that you’re secretly conspiring against me and you’ve finally gathered enough information to overthrow me and the last year or so has all been fake?”

Yuta stopped mid-bite and set his fork down. He looked distressed, simply. There were other emotions flying through his features, fear, disappointment, panic, and finally, hurt. “I- no, Sicheng. Do you actually think that?”

“I don’t know,” Sicheng shrugged. “You tell me.”

Now that he had opened this book, he might as well finish it.

“You can’t actually believe that. What reason do I have?”

“Money, power, a title.”

“Is that what you think of me, Sicheng?” Yuta asked, incredulous. Sicheng looked on, unwilling to show any hint of expression. What would Yuta say, if he were to be right?

Impassive, Yuta stood, all traces of his previous hurt dissolved. “Well, Sicheng-” he slipped out his wallet, placed enough money for the meal down on the table, “-if that’s what you think of me, then you really don’t know me. It was nice knowing you, I would say, but I seems like I don’t. I hope you achieve what you’re working for, for whatever it’s worth.”

Just like that, Yuta left, walked the opposite direction from where they’d come and disappeared down the corner. 

Sicheng didn’t process it. He finished their food and left, Yuta’s money still on the table, and only allowed himself freedom in the four walls of his room.

He sat on his bed, dressed in the clothes of the day, and cried. He cried because he messed up the only good thing that had happened to him since he’d been back, he cried because he hurt Yuta, he cried because he'd caught feelings and now there was no way he could hope for anything between them. He messed up. 

Sicheng allowed himself another few minutes of tears and pity before fixing things. How could he have been so thoughtless? Stupid, selfish, validation-seeking move. He should have thought it through, he always thinks things through, but with Yuta - this wasn't Yuta's fault. No, he couldn't blame him here. This was all Sicheng and his complexes and his need for reassurance and he needed to stop thinking about this, he'd cry again.

Why, of all things he could have said, why that? Why'd he push Yuta when he knew he was wrong? Simply to hear Yuta reassure him over and over that it wasn't like that? Pathetic. Of course it wasn't like that, of course he wouldn't lie. It was too real, too tangible, too intimate to be fake. 

_You've really done it this time, Sicheng. Hope you're happy. Hope you love that Yuta knew better than to validate you because he has self-respect, because he can see right through your bullshit and he won't stand for it. You need to be better._

_You aren't enough. Not for him._

No. Not again.

_You aren't enough, and if you keep it up, you never will be._

Sicheng refused to go down that road again. He stood, reminding himself that he could fix this. He could be better. He needed to think over it completely and exhaust himself first, though. 

So Sicheng found himself comfortably wrapped in his sheets - which Yuta had slept in, he refused to get them changed - after a long, warm bath, with his phone in hand.

Call, or text? Why had no one taught him phone etiquette?

He tapped the call button before he could think much of it. He should have, though, considering it was well past midnight and Yuta had work the next day. The phone rang until it stopped, no response.

Well then.

Sicheng rolled over and flicked his lamp off. He'd try his luck in the morning. He could still fix this.

Apparently, luck was on his side.

His phone lit up with a notification, text from Yuta. 

_what do you want_

How Yuta managed to sound tired over text was beyond Sicheng.

_To apologise_

_why?_

_I made a mistake it wasn't right of me_

_what wasn't right of you all you did was ask_

Sicheng could feel the text mocking him.

_I knew yet I still pushed. I apologise_

_you knew huh well that's nice of you_

_I know, I'm sorry. It was wrong of me._

_why'd you do it then_

Sicheng typed the message thrice before giving up and settling for, _Can I call? It's too long to explain._

He could hear Yuta sigh over the _fine_ he got in response. 

"Yes, Sicheng. Explain."

No usual greeting, then.

"I need validation and I can't validate myself so I actively seek it and well, that's what I did today. I have thought of you to be deceiving in the past, yes, but that was when we first met. I do not believe that you're anything short of real, Yuta. You're probably the realest thing I have in my life right now."

Then Yuta sighed, over the phone.

"So what you're saying is… that you want me to tell you you're wanted? That I like being around you, and that you're not what everyone makes you out to be? Sicheng, you could've just asked."

Yuta sighed again, followed by some shuffling, and he was properly awake now.

"Seriously, Sicheng? You made me feel like shit because you want to hear that I like you?"

"It's not that."

But it was that.

"Okay, it is that, but I didn't mean for it to turn out like this. I really didn't. Please don't think I think of you like that, it's the opposite. I'm insecure and I can't help myself here and so I'll seek it out. It's nothing against you."

Perhaps it was the late night, perhaps it was Yuta. Sicheng spoke of his issues more openly than he dared to with himself, because voicing it would make it real, no matter how much he thought of it. It was real now. 

There was silence on the other line. 

"I spoke too much of myself, sorry. Yuta?"

"I'm here."

"Right."

“Sicheng, it’s just…” Yuta trailed off, looking for words. “It’s unfair. I know I sound extremely selfish right now, but it’s unfair to me. Talk to me about it, if it’s bothering you. Don’t play mind games with me to get what you want.”

“Mind games? Really?”

“Shut up, I don’t know what to call it. Stop avoiding what I said.”

Worth a shot.

“I don’t do the whole talking thing. It won’t happen in a day.”

“I know.”

“It’s going to be frustrating and annoying.”

“I know.”

“I’ll push you away, probably. I’ll hurt you.”

“I know.”

“It’ll be unfair to you. You know that.”

“I know.”

“Then why?”

Silence. 

“It’s better if you talk, it’ll be better for both of us. Even if you push me away, at least I’ll know there’s something wrong.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“I know.”

“Yuta-”

“Leave it, please. Don’t ask me.”

“Alright,” Sicheng sighed. It was weird. Remarkably weird. He hadn’t expected to upset Yuta and confront him on the same day, (technically the next day, but Sicheng couldn’t care for technicalities) and have Yuta be so relaxed about it. He didn’t deserve that kindness.

“I’m sorry,” he said, again.

“It’s alright. Just don’t do it again.”

“But it’s not alright, I upset you.”

“You did, and you apologised. Hopefully you’ll try not to make the same mistake, and that’s what matters.”

“I really don’t deserve this, Yuta. I don’t deserve you.”

“You don’t get to decide that. I make mistakes too, you know that. I’m not some, you know, superior being who’s perfect.”

_But to me, I think you are._

“Okay.”

“It’s alright, okay? Go to sleep now.”

“I’m sorry for waking you.”

“Stop apologising. We sorted this, that’s more important.”

“Okay, Yuta. Sleep well.”

“Good night, Sicheng.”

His phone screen went black, and he felt strangely content. It was weird. He’d never felt better after having a conversation. Knowing Yuta didn’t think of him vilely was enough, but Yuta consoling him was different. It was intimate, and Sicheng was afraid.

He was afraid of what he felt towards Yuta. He hadn’t experienced it enough to know, but he was certain. For Yuta, he was certain.

Sicheng turned over and tugged his blanket up to his chin. He could think about this tomorrow.

~

Sicheng woke feeling strange. He couldn’t quite place the feeling, but it was somewhere between discomfort and gratefulness. He knew he was afraid, he knew his feelings unsettled him, but he was too blinded by the comfort Yuta brought him to address it. He would cling onto that comfort for as long as he could, and once he couldn’t, he would search for something better. (If there was something better.)

He was distracted throughout breakfast, only registering what his mother said when she asked him to join her at work. It made the day even stranger, because she never asked him.

“Yes, mother. I will,” he replied, scanning her over for any signs of sickness. There were the usual circles under her eyes, but that was hardly suspicious. She drank her tea without sugar, but she had done that before, only around the time of his father’s death.

Oh.

“Who died, mother?”

“No one is dead, Sicheng,” she seemed unphased by the question, perhaps she was expecting it.

“Who’s going to die, then?”

She set her cup down, clearly contemplating telling him.

“It’s Choi,” she said, finally.

Sicheng held back the ‘good riddance’ he almost blurted. “Right.” he said, instead.

“I’m not sure how, but there’s a target on his back. We’re sorting it out, and I want you to be there.”

“Mother, you know they won’t appreciate my presence.”

“You don’t need to come in, no. Just listen.”

“Alright.”

She took a sip of her tea. “Now, go put on a suit. Where did you pick up this horrible habit of wearing those undignified pyjamas around the house?”

“Yes, mother.”

Later that day found Sicheng observing - through the window of reflective glass, built exactly for this purpose - one of his mother’s more formal meetings. She was actually seated, this time, at the head of the table. There was an uncomfortable silence as everyone read through the agenda, and his mother clapped her hands to gain the attention of the officials. 

“Let’s skip the formalities, okay?”

A murmur of agreement arose.

“Our goal right now is not to figure out why, or who, it’s to prevent what’s going to happen. Evidence suggests assasination, most probably a single, clean, shot. Any other suggestions?”

“Arson.”

It was Oh, of course. 

“And why arson?”

“You obviously know what I’m hinting at.”

Yes, it was fairly obvious.

“Mr. Oh, my son does not plan to kill off board members.”

“And why not?”

“This is going to be his in the future, he wouldn’t jeopardize himself so. No need for further discussion on this. Any other suggestions?”

“But you can see he’s not going to manage it well,” Mr. Oh pressed. His mother shot him a look that said, we’ll discuss this later. Oh looked away, back down to his hands, and his gaze remained there.

“What I don’t understand is, why warn us?” Mr. Kim spoke up. He was seated next to Choi, who was understandably jittery, and held shifted away as if to avoid catching his jitters. Sicheng scoffed. 

“Perhaps they’re creating a diversion,” Mr. Lee suggested. “Maybe they’re planning something else?”

“In which case, we need to be more alert,” His mother nodded at Lee, and continued. “Authorise the assassins to yourselves.”

_Yuta’s busy then,_ Sicheng thought.

“Should I go into hiding?” Choi spoke up.

“That would be suspicious. I don’t want to alert the entire organisation.”

“Oh, okay. Yes,” Choi cleared his throat, goodness, he was nervous.

“I know we’re not discussing why, but do you think there’s someone out for the organisation?”

“I understand, Lee, that you have questions. But this is really not the time. Like you said earlier, this could be a diversion. We need to make more measures to protect ourselves.”

“How’s setting fire to one of those useless, child-groups that have been out for us? At least your son can do something, then.”

Mr. Oh, again. Sicheng rolled his eyes. He had no business setting fire to ‘children-groups’, as Oh put it. That was simply below him.

“We do not make enemies, Oh. Those children-groups will be extinct, someone or the other would do it in a few years. It’s not our concern.”

“What about that rival group - the one here. It’s not letting you expand properly, they’re cancelling out what we’re doing. They killed a few assassins too. It’s probably them.”

“Perhaps,” she considered. “We can’t say for sure, though. The best we can do now is keep ourselves protected. Warn me if you get anymore of those messages - even if they seem like a joke. We can’t take the risk. Someone knowing about us is bad enough.”

An uncomfortable silence followed. Sicheng could feel the awkward tension in his bones, as the members looked uncertainly at one another. They were all afraid, Sicheng realised, they were all afraid and unsure.

His mother must have picked up on this, because she cleared her throat and said, “That’s all for today. You may take your leave.”

She stood, motioning for everyone else to rise, too. “Be careful, okay? And Mr. Oh, please stay back.”

One by one, they filtered out of the room, and the low hum of conversation carried until they were out of earshot. She closed the door, took her seat on the table once again. Oh watched her with a strange satisfaction, and Sicheng was immediately unsettled. 

“What is it, Mr. Oh? What do you have to say?”

“Your son will never lead.”

She sighed, and Sicheng did as well.

“Why is that?”

“He’s not fit for this. He’s one of those softies. He’d probably faint at the sight of blood - and the whole prostitution thing? He can’t do it. I still don’t understand why you gave him time.”

“That is my business, Mr. Oh, not yours. Is that all?”

Oh fixed his gaze on her, attempting to dissect what was going on in her head. He wouldn’t be able to, Sicheng knew. He did learn from the best. 

“Alright, it’s your organisation, in the end. Up to you.”

“It is.”

“Why not burn that Chinese group, though? You know they’re damaging us. They have to pay in some way.” 

“Everyone pays, Mr. Oh. When the time is right.”

“They’re not even proper men. You know,” Oh’s face adopted a disgusted look. “They’re the different men -” he dropped to a whisper “-who like other men.”

She nodded, and Sicheng knew she had to for Oh, but he wasn’t so sure how she’d react if that came from him.

“It’s ridiculous.” Oh leaned back in his chair. “If you’re not going to get rid of them for damaging us, at least get rid of them for that. God knows they shouldn’t exist.”

“Is that why you suggested them instead of anyone else?” She replied, voice neutral. Sicheng would like to know what was going through her head, but he couldn’t figure it out.

“Yeah. It’s better, you know? Two birds with one stone. It’s not like we want to be affiliated with them, not at all.”

“Right, I’ll have to consider it. Anything else?”

Oh pretended to contemplate. Sicheng and his mother could decipher this much.

“Get that son of yours to do something. If he wants to lead, he better take initiative now.”

Now his mother looked defeated. It was an act.

“Mr. Oh, I’ve been trying. Just a few more days to convince him - let’s see what we can put him to.” 

Oh nodded sympathetically, muttering something about children while rising.

“Next meeting, then,” he put a hand on her shoulder as he left, in a comforting gesture.

“Next meeting,” she echoed. 

The door closed shut. Sicheng waited a few moments before entering.

“Well, mother.”

“Yes, Sicheng, sit.”

She seemed tired, though she hid it well.

“I’d say it’s not a diversion, but that’s probably wrong. I have a feeling they’re out for you.”

“I hate to agree, Sicheng.”

Sicheng nodded, and watched as she stood up, made her way to the small cabinet by the door. “Want a drink?”

“Would be nice,” he replied. She hummed, pulled out a bottle and inspected it, then replaced it with another, cheaper one. Sicheng would have liked to think she was saving the more expensive one for an occasion, but he knew the occasion would never come.

“What do you think of Mr. Oh?” she asked, as she poured a glass of wine for herself.

“I think,” Sicheng took the bottle from her, poured some for himself. “You should stop calling him ‘Mr. Oh’ and switch to just ‘Oh’.”

She snorted. “Answer the question.”

“I think he should be kicked out, if not killed.”

“Don’t say that again.”

“Yes, mother. I don’t like him.”

“I know,” she took a gulp. “Do you think someone will kill him instead?”

“I hope so.”

“Goodness, Sicheng.”

“Just keep yourself protected, mother. You know I can’t handle this.”

“You can, and you will. Don’t doubt that.”

Sicheng did. He doubted it, and she should too. He had no heart to her that now, though. It would have to wait.

~

Yuta found him, for a change. Sicheng had been roaming the buildings, attempting and passing at looking nonchalant and purposeful. He’d crossed by Yuta’s usual practice room, then the room next to it, and finally reached the end of the hall where Yuta emerged from the stairwell door and smiled at him.

“I’d been looking for you,” he told him, and Sicheng was a bit struck by his smile and casualness - was everything okay between them?

“As was I.”

“Roof?”

“Lead the way.”

Thus they ended up on the terrace, backs against the railings, seated on the dirty floor, Yuta with his eyes shut and Sicheng observing him unsurely.

“We’re good, Sicheng. Don’t fret.”

“I’m not fretting.”

“I can feel it, with my eyes closed.”

Sicheng snorted. Yuta opened his eyes.

“Are you sure?” His voice took a hesitating edge, which rarely happened, just another reason to be scared.

“I’m sure.”

His voice was easy to believe, and so were his eyes. Sicheng couldn’t remember when he’d grown so attached to everything - his smile, his voice, his goddamned eyes - when had he allowed himself this, when he knew he would end up afraid? When he could go nowhere with this, even if Yuta reciprocated, because this was doomed from the start, just like his future?

Yuta shouldn’t have to be a part of his disaster era. Yuta should be in medical school, should go home to his parents, to his college friends, should not be worried about the next bullet he would shoot. If anyone, Yuta did not deserve this life.

“What are you thinking, Sicheng?”

He blinked.

For once, Sicheng couldn’t frame his thoughts soon enough to answer him. Instead, he fixed his gaze on Yuta’s eyes, to see what Yuta was thinking. But they blocked him. Yuta didn’t want him to know, and Yuta closed his eyes, because Yuta knew that Sicheng would want to give him the answer he wanted to hear and not the answer Sicheng wanted to give. 

“Tell me,” he prompted. His head was tilted towards Sicheng, half facing him and half fitted into the bars of the railing.

Sicheng swallowed. He faced Yuta, drawing up one of his knees to his chest and linking his hands over his shin.

“I’m scared, Yuta.” 

“Of what, love?”

Yuta’s eyes snapped open. Sicheng didn’t register it. He left his face vacant.

“Sicheng?” 

Tentative, Yuta lifted a hand to rest on Sicheng’s cheek. He refused to register it, shifting his eyes to the door they’d come through.

Yuta shifted closer. 

“Please look at me.”

So Sicheng looked, only because Yuta had asked.

Yuta’s thumb stroked his cheek.

His eyes were open, now. Sicheng could read him like he’d read him before, he knew exactly what he saw. He could make sense of it, though. He could make sense of it and it scared him, because it was a reflection of his eyes. He saw himself in Yuta, and Yuta saw himself in Sicheng, and his eyes were open pools of love, pure, bare, uncovered, just like Sicheng’s.

“Is this what you’re afraid of?”

Even if Sicheng nodded, it didn’t matter, because Yuta understood him. That was more than Sicheng could ask for.

His eyes asked the unspoken question, _can I?_ , and now Sicheng nodded, because _yes, yes, you could, please,_ and he closed his eyes while he saw Yuta’s fall shut.

The kiss was not special. It was not fireworks or butterflies, it was not his skin on fire under Yuta’s touch or electricity at their fingertips, it was not a storm raining down on them, it was not being struck by lightning.

It was simply, coming home. It was comfortable, it was experienced - his mouth fit against Yuta’s like it belonged there, like it carved a spot there, like Yuta’s lips had been shaped to take his and only his. The kiss was slow, deliberate, and exactly what Sicheng liked, (though he would like anything, if it came from Yuta) a zephyr, a drizzle, the clouds protecting him from the sun.

Yuta broke away first, exhaled sharply, and Sicheng’s hand lifted to cup Yuta’s face, his own moon, his own reflection.

“I’m scared,” he whispered.

“I know, love,” Yuta replied. “So am I.”

And Sicheng nodded, and connected their lips once again, and cherished the feeling for he didn’t know how long he would need to hold onto it for. 

~

Sicheng came to learn that Yuta never kissed lazily. Each kiss was full, taking all Sicheng would give, and giving back more than Sicheng could take. 

In return, all Sicheng could do was kiss back. There was a time when Sicheng would try and take control over everything - back when he refused to let himself go, when he could be the only person who knew himself - but he let Yuta have this. He wanted Yuta to have this.

Yuta pushed back and Sicheng obliged, his head hitting the railing behind him, but Yuta didn't stop, only lifted his hand to Sicheng's hair and caressed it in apology.

It was comfortable, because they knew each other. They knew the tells and hints, the satisfied hums and the urgent tugs and the forceful reciprocation, a tilt of the head or a slight push forwards - they knew. It was engraved unto their actions, so, so fluid and so, so natural, like they'd studied each other's bodies and mapped every inch of skin and expanse and knowledge there was to know. Like they'd done this before, danced this dance, played this game, with no winners or rewards or consequences, only each other.

Sicheng gently nudged Yuta back and exhaled, breath ghosting between their mouths. 

"Slow down," he told Yuta, and Yuta kissed him slow, lips moving against each other like they were dew slipping off petals, like they were clouds shifting in the sky.

"Better?" he pulled away to ask. Sicheng nodded through his delirious gaze, so utterly high, so utterly content. 

Yuta observed him with adoration in his eyes, obvious, and pressed his forehead to Sicheng's.

"I've wanted and waited, Sicheng."

"I know, Yuta. So have I."

“And now that I’ve received, it’s hard not to be greedy.”

“Then take it.”

Sicheng bored his gaze into Yuta’s, deciphering exactly what he would do next, when he realised he would rather not. He was sick of living like this, of knowing and predicting Yuta’s every move. So he closed his eyes waited. 

Nothing came.

“I will, Sicheng. Just not today.”

Yuta’s lips, so close to his own that Sicheng could feel their breaths mingling, shifted up and kissed his forehead. 

“This is not going to be the last time.”

“This is not going to be the last time,” Sicheng echoed. 

“I promise it,” Yuta rested his forehead against Sicheng’s once again, laced his fingers in Sicheng’s, brought their intwined hands up and kissed the back of Sicheng’s palm.

Sicheng would only remember the intensity of Yuta’s gaze when he promised.

~

At breakfast the next day, Sicheng insisted on accompanying his mother to work. He did it the day after, and the day after, until a week was over of no signs of attempted assassinations. 

Yuta was, as predicted, extremely busy. He was stuck tailing the board members, sometimes Sicheng's mother, for protection. He hadn't signed up to be a bodyguard, he'd told Sicheng, one evening on the roof, but he was stuck with this because of the lack of employees. 

Sicheng knew that was his fault, if they had the prostitution division, there would be plenty money to hire bodyguards. 

He didn't regret it at all, though. It didn't cross his mind to, either.

“It’s strange, you know, because apart from this building, their lives are so normal.” 

“How do you mean?”

“Like, Oh went grocery shopping the other day.”

Indeed, it was strange to imagine Oh pushing a trolley and inspecting ingredients on the back of a soup can, perhaps picking up some ice cream, but he was, in the end, just like everyone else.

Sicheng was, too. And so was Yuta, and his mother, and the rest of the board members - only, they had targets on their backs which everyone else did not.

“Can you believe he uses floral-scented shampoo? I never knew he needed shampoo for a bald head.”

“Must be for his family.”

“Perhaps. That would explain the acne cream, too.”

“For his children, then,” Sicheng concluded. It was oddly domestic, to think of Oh buying household products, while also controlling organised crime in the southern parts of the city. To anyone who didn’t know him, he’d seem like a business man - and at the end of the day, he was. It was only the type of business which was different.

At the end of the day, everyone was the same. Make enough money to survive, pass it on, and die. Sicheng wasn’t different because of his social standing, nor was Yuta, nor was anyone else who worked under them.

They were merely living to die, and make that life worth living, in his case.

“Hey, Sicheng, I’m talking to you,” Yuta was waving a hand over his eyes, and Sicheng blinked back into their conversation.

“Sorry, what?”

“What are you doing this weekend?”

And Sicheng, honest to the heavens, blushed. 

Yuta gave him a satisfied smile.

“I’m going to be home, and free, and very available.”

Yuta nodded. “Good to know.”

“Have dinner with me?”

Yuta smiled. “No, Sicheng. You have dinner with me.” 

So Sicheng held a smile of his own, bashful and shy. Yuta laughed at him as he looked down to his hands, muttering a ‘yes’ loud enough for Yuta only.

~

It was only two years into their acquaintanceship did Sicheng learn where Yuta lived.

The neighbourhood was lively, the apartment was lively, and when Sicheng got over the initial awkwardness, dinner was lively too. 

“So I told Oh, hey, listen, you know I can’t do shit as an assassin, why don’t you shift me to the infirmary - but he stopped me -”

“And he flipped you off?”

“He flipped me off, good god.”

Sicheng snorted into his glass. 

“I’m telling you,” Yuta continued, eyes shining and small smile playing at his lips, “he knows nothing about handling an organisation. Sure, he may be intimidating and mean and may enforce discipline, but he’s really annoying.”

“He once told my mother her hair didn’t suit her.” 

“Says the bald man.”

“Exactly what I said. I got grounded for it.”

Yuta shook his head fondly. “You rebel child.”

“Hey, I was a very well-behaved child, just by the way.”

“Are you still?”

“Am I what?”

“Well-behaved?”

Sicheng should’ve seen that coming. He took a breath and Yuta sipped on his wine, eyes on him. Sicheng didn’t need to look into them to know what Yuta meant.

“I guess you’ll find out.”

Yuta smirked, set down his glass. “Finish your food,” he pushed Sicheng’s plate closer to him.

And Sicheng did, hastily stuffing the last few bites of the pasta - much nicer than he’d expected, really, he thought Yuta would be a horrible cook - and downing it with the remaining wine in his glass. 

“I’ll get dessert, then,” and Yuta disappeared into his kitchen.

What the fuck. Literally, what the fuck. Sicheng could not handle this, he could not submit so easily - what was wrong with him? This was so out of character of him (or was it in character?) and he never let this happen, so why now?

And of course, the answer, as usual, was Yuta.

Nakamoto fucking Yuta. 

Who was now observing him from the doorway of the kitchen, black hair slipping down from where it was gelled back and Sicheng found he liked better that way. He tossed a bar of chocolate to Sicheng and Sicheng caught it, some unknown force compelling him to follow whatever Yuta told him.

He’d never been so comfortable being submissive.

Sicheng only had Yuta to blame, or credit. Not the alcohol, not the atmosphere, not the fact that nothing was expected of him here.

Just Yuta, and his lingering gaze, and his hesitant hands, and his unsure footsteps as walked towards Sicheng.

“Have some,” he prompted, and Sicheng slid open the packaging to break off a piece of the chocolate and pop it into his mouth.

Dark, bitter, but sweet.

Yuta’s fingers found purchase under his chin and tilted his head up. Sicheng watched him, as he gradually leaned down to kiss him, lips a hair’s breath away from his own. Sicheng’s eyes fell shut. 

And Yuta kissed him.

Slow, deliberate, like the first time, but with less urgency. They could take their time today.

Yuta’s fingers trailed up to cup his cheek. Sicheng stood, planting his hands on Yuta’s waist, and pulled him closer. He angled his head lower as Yuta angled his up, without breaking the kiss. The chocolate was melting in his mouth, he was sure Yuta could taste it on his lips - and that was probably the point, so Sicheng slipped his tongue to tease at the edge of Yuta’s mouth. 

Yuta, in return, pushed harder, so Sicheng did it again, until he felt Yuta’s lips part. The melted chocolate slipped into Yuta’s mouth. Sicheng thought it tasted better on him. He licked up the remnants from the insides of his mouth, finding Yuta’s teeth strangely compelling so he swiped his tongue over the maxillary set and _oh,_ Yuta liked that.

Sicheng muffled the sounds he made with his mouth, repeating the same over and over until Yuta pushed him away.

It was too abrupt for Sicheng. Saliva - Yuta’s or his, he didn’t know - dribbled down from the corner of his mouth and he reached to wipe it off with his sleeve, but Yuta caught his wrist and jerked him forward, to lick up the saliva and push his tongue back in Sicheng’s mouth.

“You’re doing great,” Yuta told him, once he released his hold over Sicheng’s lips. 

“I don’t need to be told that, Yuta.”

“But you like it.”

Sicheng would be damned if he disagreed.

“More chocolate?”

“No,” Perplexed, Yuta furrowed his brows.

“I think you taste better,” and Sicheng kissed him, again.

This time, both his hands were on Yuta’s neck, tilting his head up. Yuta’s found the lapels of his blazer and pushed it off his shoulders, removing Sicheng’s hands from him before they could settle and pushed him back. Sicheng helped him discard the article and returned his hands to Yuta’s neck, toying with the neckline of his sweater. He moved to align his forehead with Yuta’s, hands moving up to cup his cheeks, and he stopped.

“It’s a bit warm, don’t you think?”

“We have time, Sicheng.”

Yuta tugged on his collar and Sicheng obliged, exhaled; placed his lips on Yuta’s. They moved slow. Sicheng found he rather liked it that way - give and take, but gentle, deliberate, Yuta meant every touch, shift, exhale. It was better, much better, than what Sicheng had felt when he’d previously done this.

It was different with Yuta. Or maybe he’d never done this with someone he was in love with. Maybe he’d never been in love before. 

Sicheng let himself me pushed back, he let Yuta climb onto his lap as he fell onto the sofa, he let Yuta’s hands roam as he roamed his own. Yuta’s fingers pushed through his buttons so Sicheng opened them, and once Yuta caught on he opened the rest for Sicheng, sliding the shirt off of him without letting go.

In turn, Sicheng hesitated with the edge of Yuta’s sweater. He slowed down the kiss, nudged Yuta back, and asked him if it was okay.

“Yes, it is,” came the reply, and Yuta left a chaste kiss on his lips before pulling off his top in a single, fluid motion. For whatever reason, Sicheng thought it was the coolest thing ever.

Yuta laughed, “that’s cute,” he told him, and he placed his lips on Sicheng’s neck. Which was not cute, not at all.

Earlier, Sicheng had never really cared for marks. But of course, with Yuta, everything would be different. He’d never felt such satisfaction feeling teeth sink into his skin; pain to the point of pleasure. Yuta was thorough, leaving indents of his teeth to form a blooming red, rolling his tongue over it to somehow soothe the pain.

Sicheng liked it. He liked having someone else to this for him, for a change. He liked being taken care of, having Yuta be gentle enough to leave soft kisses over his artwork. He liked being serenaded by Yuta’s presence, by his touch, by his lips. Sicheng liked it.

Yuta sunk his teeth in deep enough to draw blood near Sicheng’s collarbone and fuck, that put Sicheng on edge. He tugged on Yuta’s hair to pull him back and he kissed him, tasted his own blood on Yuta’s lips. 

“Can I take you to bed, Sicheng?” he exhaled, breath teasing the insides of Sicheng’s mouth.

“I would like nothing more.”

And the dusk ebbed into midnight; Sicheng could hear Yuta's name on his lips, feel Yuta's name on his lips, taste Yuta's name on his lips — and then he was tasting Yuta, lips to lips, chest to chest, closer than they'd ever been before and as Sicheng watched the moon rise to Yuta's soft sounds he came undone.

Later, Yuta would run a wet towel down his thighs and stomach, he would kiss his lips in promise of return, he would hold Sicheng until he fell asleep. But now, he panted against his chest, heaving from exertion; Sicheng felt each breath that hit his skin intimate, his breathing matched Yuta's.

"I'll be right back, love," and Sicheng held his face in his hands and kissed Yuta slow, hoping it would convey enough of an 'I'm in love with you' before he could say the words. Yuta nodded once he pulled away, then pulled away from Sicheng entirely. 

Later, Yuta would whisper things to Sicheng when he would be asleep. He'd stroke Sicheng's eyes, lips, cheeks just to see if he was real, if this had really happened, and he'd say his own 'I love you' by pulling Sicheng closer. 

~

Sicheng woke to an unfamiliar bed. There was a retreating warmth on the space next to his, and he unconsciously reached to grasp it before it left completely. Yuta.

Oh, last night. Sicheng was not forgetting that, not anytime soon. He’d fallen too deeply to forget, and so had Yuta. He was sure of it.

Sicheng waited for sounds. If none came, Yuta was probably in danger, and Sicheng did not want to deal with that first thing in the morning.

Thankfully, Yuta seemed to break a few ceramic mugs, which was followed by hushed cursing. Sicheng smiled to himself. He wrapped the blanket around his body and stumbled to the kitchen, alerting Yuta. 

He started, almost dropping another mug. 

“You’re awake,” he nodded at Sicheng, smile forming at his lips. “Good morning, love.”

And he was properly smiling now, teeth and all, dazzling Sicheng with the sun in its full glory too early in morning. 

So Sicheng did the only thing he could think of. 

“I’m so in love with you.”

Silence. 

He should have regretted it, because it’s not something he should say, ever, it makes him vulnerable and open to attack. It gives him a weakness.

It didn’t matter to him. Not anymore.

He shifted his gaze to Yuta, he wasn’t smiling, but his eyes were obvious enough to read and Sicheng waited for him to speak.

“Are you sure, Sicheng?”

“Very,” he walked towards Yuta, blanket slipping off his shoulders and pooling at his ankles with every step. He didn’t care. Yuta watched him, disbelieving, as he placed his hands on either side of Yuta’s face.

“I love you.”

Yuta’s face broke into a smile. Dazzling, Sicheng would say, if he could speak. Instead Yuta held his waist and pulled him closer, locking his eyes with Sicheng’s.

“I love you too, Sicheng. So much.”

And when Yuta kissed him, Sicheng felt it.

Sicheng felt it when Yuta made coffee for him, with sugar and chocolate and milk, exactly how SIcheng didn’t like it, but he finished it anyway.

Sicheng felt it when Yuta kissed down his neck in the shower, when Yuta washed his hair for him, when Yuta whispered it into his collarbones. 

Sicheng felt it when he left, as Yuta held him with a promise for a next time, when Yuta kissed him goodbye. Sicheng felt it. He felt airy, light, limitless. He felt free.

He chose to walk home. It was pleasant, considering the seasons had been changing. Sicheng found it rather fitting, for the weather to be to his liking as the morning had been. Things were looking up for him, for once.

(He stopped at every garden on the way home to take pictures of the flowers and send them to Yuta with uncharacteristically cheesy captions like ‘Thought of you :D’ and ‘Look it’s you’ - for which, the response was always, ‘i’m always thinking of you’ or ‘you’re looking in a mirror :((’. This made Sicheng extremely elated though he refused to acknowledge the sheer effect a single text message had on him.)

His usually gloomy house looked happy today, as well. Sure, he’d have to explain to his mother why’d he’d been missing for the night, but for now, he could spend some more time in the gardens and -

What was Mr. Choi doing at his home?

“Si -”

Sicheng didn’t let him finish. This was wrong, horribly wrong - Choi never came home unless for meeting or emergencies, and there had been no meetings scheduled for the day.

Sicheng’s blood ran cold. He felt his body still, felt a shiver of dread starting at his head travel down to his toes.

“Where’s my mother, Mr. Choi?” he levelled his voice, refusing the urgency to slip in.

“You see, last night-”

“Choi, where is she?”

He didn’t answer. He looked around sheepishly, as if hoping for some distraction to miraculously appear. It didn’t sit well with Sicheng, at all.

“Choi, I swear-”

“She’s dead, Sicheng. Your mother’s gone.”

His world went up in flames.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so that was a ride of a chapter oof  
> pls pls tell me if I've made any errors I am Tired but I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter!! thank you for reading
> 
> here's my [twt](https://twitter.com/kidfromthering) and [cc](https://curiouscat.me/kidfromthering) if you guys wanna talk

**Author's Note:**

> oof. any thoughts?
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/kidfromthering) [ cc ](https://curiouscat.me/kidfromthering?t=1556373664)


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